


I dreamt of you and woke up screaming

by River_Melody_Pond



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Implied Sexual Assault, Jaime is here for Brienne, Jaime says 'sword' a lot for reasons TM, Past Sexual Assault, as many of you know by now things turned dark in chapter 5, brothers in arms and all, canon compliant until and including s06.e08, canon divergence thereafter, it will not happen again, it's yours it will always be yours, misunderstanding in communication leads to slow burn and angst, slight changes in scenes sequence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2020-07-30 17:01:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 52,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20100598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/River_Melody_Pond/pseuds/River_Melody_Pond
Summary: After taking Riverrun without bloodshed, Jaime Lannister has a most unsettling dream regarding Brienne of Tarth...Nothing but a horrible nightmare, he tries to persuade himself... yet, if he is wrong, the Boltons have her and she is in danger.All he wants is to go back to Cersei! Cersei is the only woman he has loved, the only woman he would ever love... so he mounts his horse, takes the Lannister cavalry, and goes to Winterfell.





	1. Nightmare at the Twins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [merrymaya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrymaya/gifts).
**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I know I have a very intense WIP going on... but I woke up this morning after having dreamt Jaime's nightmare and bits of what followed. I simply could not get over it... so here it is. It won't be super long and I will keep the chapters rather short as well.
> 
> The action takes place after Jaime and Brienne reunite at Riverrun. For the purpose of this fic, the scenes from the Twin Towers (which in the series are in 06.10) are taking place before the Battle of the Bastards (06.09).
> 
> I am sticking to show canon only, although - ironically enough - the whole premise is based on parallels with the book dream. And yes, you are perfectly correct - the dream you're gonna read is a gross plagiarism.

Jaime looked around the hideous hall and held back the urge to wrinkle his nose in repulsion. The seat of the Freys was, without a doubt, the single most disgusting place is the whole of Westeros. It was however perfectly fit for its lord and his family… those shamelessly obscene, utterly repugnant, brainless pieces of filth that were the Freys. They made him sick to his core and, for that, he hated them with passionate fury.

_“House Lannister, House Frey! May we stand together through the centuries…”_ The lecherous goat toasted and Jaime struggled to keep his feelings away from his face. _“…good friends to the last.”_ Surely! That is what they were – good friends. Such good friends that he had to order Lannister soldiers to guard the door, inside and outside the hall alike. It was quite hard to forget what happened to the members of the last great family who made the mistake of dining in there while their soldiers got drunk. _“And when we drive our swords through our enemies’ hearts…”_ There it was – the reminder of House Frey’s very honour! Why was he even surprised that the leprosy Walder Frey would smugly brag about the treacherous massacre committed under his roof, at his table? _“… may we speak the words of our alliance: the Freys and the Lannisters send their regards!”_ And of course, somehow, in the midst of it all, it was all his fault! Always – always – the Kingslater’s fault! Jaime sighed and clenched his teeth. Had he not been the one to utter those words? Did it even matter he had been unaware of his father’s plan? Did it even matter he had meant them in good faith? Of course, it mattered not! He had said the words! Bolton delivered them! The deed was done! Dead inside as he felt, Jaime raised his glass to the toast and downed the wine in one go.

There was only one truth he knew: in the eyes of the world, he would always be a sinner! It mattered not how much he wanted to change or how altruistic he was... his reputation was beyond repair! He was allowed no redemption... He had just taken Riverrun without shedding a drop of blood – except the Black Fish’s, but that could hardly be considered his fault – yet he was forced into sharing the responsibility for the bloodbath that had happened in that hall over three years before. _Tell Robb Stark I am sorry I could not make it to his uncle’s wedding. The Lannisters send their regards._ Maybe it was his fault after all...

“You don’t even have to do anything, do you?” Lost in his thoughts as he was, Jaime needed a moment to understand what Bronn meant. Women, of course. A couple of women were eyeing them. “You just sit there, a rich slab of beef, and all the birds come pecking…”

“You’re welcome to have them.” Jaime replied unbothered. So little did that gold-digging cutthroat know about him! There was only one woman for him! Only one woman he had ever wanted. Only one woman he would ever want!

“They do not want me." Bronn snarled. "They want your golden fingers up their twats.”

“They’re not my type.” Jaime hissed.

“Not blonde enough?” Bronn snorted. Jaime clenched his teeth not to punch the ungrateful prick. Yes, they were not blonde enough! The woman he wanted… the only woman he had ever wanted, the only woman he would ever want was blonde! Unbidden, his thoughts went to Brienne. Jaime shook his head slightly. Cersei! He meant to think of Cersei. He was just tired.

To hear no more of it, Jaime introduced Bronn to the girls and watched him slither his way to a chamber. “You don’t have to call me ‘Ser’ just because I am an anointed knight.” _And I am the dishonourable jerk! _Jaime rolled his eyes and prepared to leave, only to be stopped by his wretched host.

“This came together rather well. Your father would be pleased!” Jaime did his duty and exchanged a couple of words with the man. His only desire was to get done with it and go to sleep, but the dirty goat kept on pushing his luck. “Here we are now… two Kingslayers…” It was enough! He was nothing – but nothing – like Walder Frey! “We know what’s it like to have them grovel to our faces, to snigger behind our backs. We don’t mind it, do we?” Jaime could swear he could feel his golden hand flexing. But no matter how much he wanted, he could not hit him. He found himself hoping the Gods would find it in them to grant Walder Frey a horrible death. 

With a heavy heart and his nerves stretched to their limit, Jaime went to bed. In the morning, they were to leave! He would rush back to Cersei, with his mission accomplished successfully and they would rebuild their capital and restrengthen their family. He would fuck her until she could not walk! They could make another child…

Holding onto that thought, Jaime fell asleep.

_Naked and alone he stood, surrounded by enemies, with stone walls all around him pressing close. The Rock, he knew. He could feel the immense weight of it above his head. He was home. He was home and whole._

_He held his right hand up and flexed his fingers to feel the strength in them. It felt as good as sex. As good as swordplay. Four fingers and a thumb. He had dreamed that he was maimed, but it was not so. Relief made him dizzy. ‘My hand, my good hand.’ Nothing could hurt him so long as he was whole._

_Around him stood a dozen tall dark figures in cowled robes that hid their faces. In their hands were knives. “Who are you?” He demanded of them. “What business do you have in Casterly Rock?”_

_They gave no answer, only prodded him with the points of their knives. He had no choice but to descend. Down a twisting passageway he went, narrow steps carved from the living rock, down and down. ‘I must go up’, he told himself. ‘Up, not down. Why am I going down?’ Below the earth his doom awaited, he knew with the certainty of a dream; something dark and terrible lurked there, something that wanted him. Jaime tried to halt, but their knives prodded him on. ‘If only I had my sword, nothing could harm me.’ But he gave it to her..._

_The steps ended abruptly on echoing darkness. Jaime had a sense of vast space before him. He jerked to a halt. He frowned. There were no such crypts below Casterly Rock. “What place is this?” Jaime demanded, but that dozen of dark figures turned to smoke before his eyes. Naked and all alone in the large gallery… surrounded suddenly by stone statues._

_“Your place!”_ _ Voices echoed in the dark; it was a hundred voices, a thousand voices… all cold like ice, all frozen in stone and time. But most loudly of all, sounded his chief prosecutor’s voice._

_“Is it you, Stark?” Jaime called. “Come ahead. I never feared you living! I do not fear you dead.”_

_From behind him came a great splash. Jaime whirled toward the sound… but the faint light revealed only Brienne of Tarth, naked too, her hands and feet bound in heavy chains. “I swore an oath…” The wench said stubbornly. “Ser Jaime... please… it will be too late… your sword… give me your sword…” Brienne begged._

_“I already gave you my sword! I said it was yours…” _ _The light turned so dim that Jaime could scarcely see her, though they stood a scant few feet apart. ‘In this light, she could almost be a beauty…’ She was as tall and strong as he remembered, yet it seemed to Jaime that she had more of a woman’s shape now._

_“He has the sword…” Brienne said, the fear in her voice echoing through the tombs. “We need more swords… he’s coming…”_

_“He has my sword?” Behind him, the wind howled in the crypt. Jaime turned his back to Brienne and peered into the gloom. Something seemed to be moving through the darkness, he could not quite make it out… “Stark? You’ve got my sword?”_

_“Jaime Lannister!” A male voice howled from where the wench stood. He turned around at once. His sword – her sword? – shone brightly pressed to Brienne’s throat. A man was standing behind her, right arm around her shoulder, gloved fingers gripping tightly the golden lion hilt as the blade grazed her skin. The man’s left arm was around Brienne’s bare waist, ungloved, skinless fingers tracing down her stomach leaving a trail of tissue and blood in their wake._

_“The Starks no longer hold the North…” Roose Bolton told him with a grin, as his flayed fingers reaching Brienne’s blonde curls. “… and they never will again! The battle is over! You and I… we’ve killed them all…” _

_At Jaime’s feet fell, as from the sky, the severed heads of Sansa Stark and her bastard brother. _ _Blood tears rolled down Brienne’s face and Bolton laughed sadistically, while slipping two of his demonic fingers inside her._

He jerked awake, screaming. Sweat was dripping down his forehead. With a pounding heart, he stared at the ceiling. It had been just a nightmare! It was not real! The night was over, the morning had come! And he was finally going back to Cersei! The woman he loved!

Jaime broke his fast in the hideous hall, as preparations were made for the departure. He had half his army with him, while the other half had been left behind to restore the order at Riverrun. Draped in his Lannister armour, including a bright red cloak, Jaime mounted his handsome mare.

“You look like hell…” Bronn greeted him, mounting his own horse.

“The Twins give me nightmares…” Jaime replied absent-mindedly.

The sell-sword snorted loudly. “Aye, I know the feeling! Got a pair of twins of my own that give me nothing but nightmares… in spite of promising castles and fortunes…”

Jaime rolled his eyes and rode off the gate, towards the river-bank, where ten of his officers, including his second in command, were waiting already saddled.

“…I see it well.” He caught the glimpse of a conversation. “Good thing we’re riding South, isn’t it, Commander?”

“Isn’t what it, Ser?” Jaime asked, struggling to keep his focus. Brienne's naked body in chains kept coming to his mind.

“We were saying that the weather is turning fast in the North and that it’s a good thing we’re going south…”

Jaime turned his head to look towards where the North was. There was going to be a battle. The two remaining Starks were going to reclaim their ancestral home from the spawn of Roose Bolton. That battle was the reason why Brienne had been at Riverrun. She was trying to get more swords to fight for the Starks and the Tullys were the most natural allies. Jaime had promised her to grand the Tully armies passage North if she managed to convince the Black Fish to surrender the castle. She had failed… and returned North empty-handed, with no additional swords for Sansa Stark.

“Winter is coming!” Jaime said abruptly and his men frowned his way. The Starks would lose the battle! They lacked the numbers. They would all end up killed in battle, which meant that Brienne would also...

“Ready to return victorious to your blonde Queen?” Bronn teased stopping his horse beside him.

... which meant that Brienne would also die, or worse! The Boltons would get her first and then she’d die!

“Yes... I’ve left her Grace alone long enough!” The images of Bolton’s flayed fingers reaching Brienne’s womanly folds pierced through his thoughts. Jaime's hand began shaking on the reins.

The Twins were halfway between King’s Landing and Winterfell... which meant he was halfway... halfway between Cersei and Brienne.

He will, of course, go to Cersei... by the time he will reach home, she will have won her trial... they could put their capital in order... strengthen their family... fuck until she could not walk... make a child... by the time he will be home, _she_ would be dead... after having failed to keep her vow... dead! Hardly his fault! He gave her his sword! Useless, useless, useless wench! He gave her his sword and she failed to put it to good use and keep the stupid Stark girl safe!

“Everything’s ready for departure?” Jaime asked struggling to maintain his tone even. _She _would be dead.

“Yes, Ser! The soldiers began the march at sunrise. The cavalry is in formation, by the Kingsroad, waiting for you to lead the way.”

“How many came with us again?” He asked in spite of himself. The image of Roose Bolton holding Oathkeeper at Brienne’s throat flashed before his eyes. Cersei! He had to go home to Cersei!

“Five hundred riders, Ser.”

“We shall leave at once...” He said as Bolton pressed the blade on Brienne’s pale skin. Jaime squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head to rid himself of all those images.

Horrible mistake, for they only became more vivid behind closed lids! _‘The Lannisters send their regards!’ Bolton whispered in Brienne’s ear and sliced her throat open._

“We’re riding to Winterfell!” Jaime declared resolutely turning everyone’s eyes on him. "The ten of you, Bronn and my cavalry!" 

“You lost your fucking mind, Lannister?” Bronn inquired.

“No… I’ve lost my _sword!_” He said turning his horse around. “Fucking Bolton’s got my _sword!_” Jaime heeled his horse and started galloping towards her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think of the idea! Xx


	2. You're a coward, Lannister!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see!!! I was in vacation and had little time to edit my writings. But the new chapter is here (and I will soon update my WIP as well. A sensitive chapter there, needs a lot of thinking through haha.)

They made camp for the night. The knights who were not on watch duty retreated to their tents, but Jaime remained by the fire. He let his head fall into his palm and sighed heavily. What was he doing? The question kept on echoing in his mind the way it did without pause for the previous eight days. A dreadful feeling of panic had settled in his chest mere hours after commencing their journey north and Jaime could not, for the life of him, relinquish it. What in the name of all Gods was he doing!? What was he doing? What was he doing?!

The Lannister cavalry moved through the North as fast and safely as it possibly could. They reached the Barrowlands without incidents, but they were still merely halfway to Winterfell. No one had enough authority to question his commands – Jaime knew it – but there was no denying discontent was on the rise among his knights. The tension in the air was becoming more suffocating with every passing day. What were they doing in the North? The question was on everyone's mind, yet no one dared to voice it out loud.

“What’cha thinking about, _Commander_?” Bronn asked sarcastically, dragging his feet closer to the fire.

“The plan…” Jaime replied raising his head just in time to see his friend sitting on the log, next to him. Was that what Bronn was to him - a friend? In the over two years since his return from imprisonment, Jaime had spent more time with Bronn than with any other person... but a friend? He was not sure. How was he supposed to know what a friend truly was? Jaime never had friends in his life. He had his siblings, of course, but they did not really qualify as friends. They were both much more than that and yet, at the same time, much less than that. They were... _obligations_. Throughout the years, Jaime had to be close to them, he had to love them, he had to protect them, to keep them safe from the world, from each other. Of recent, Tyrion had come close to being a true friend... but then he killed their father. Other than his siblings, he used to have his Brothers. But they were not friends either... they were much more than that and much less than that. They were... _coincidences._ He had been oath-bound to care for them, to share his life with them, to protect each other and their King above all. Of course, he had failed to do his duty at a very young age... and then no one truly liked him anymore. He had no friends... and yet, when thinking it, Brienne's face came to his mind. Jaime sent her away. She was no friend of his! She was... a pest! That's what she was!

“The plan?" Bronn snorted, curtailing his trail of thoughts. "Blimey’… I could have bet the castle you owe me on the fact that you don't actually have a plan! So enlighten me, what's this plan?”

Jaime did not reply. He did not even attempt to open his mouth to mimic a reply. He had nothing to say. Bronn was, of course, right. There was a plan! There was not even the semblance of a plan! Jaime had not the slightest idea of what was he doing with a small Lannister cavalry invading the North!

A heavy hand landed on his back followed by Bronn's hoarse laughter. "See how easily I would have gotten myself a bigger castle with that bet!" When Jaime sighed heavily, the sellsword became serious, or rather as serious as he could be. "Listen here... the boys and I were talking back there while freezing our bones on our horses and you know what? They do not like you."

"No none likes me..." Jaime replied unbothered, but he did not miss the underlining fact that Bronn - his friend (?) - had voluntarily taken the pulse of the troops for him.

"Cry me a river, rich boy!" Bronn hissed. "Tell us the fuck we're doing here and tell us soon! Or you'll wake up one of these days to find your knights have deserted and left your sorry ass all alone in the cold North!"

"I..." Jaime took in a deep breath and looked with pleading eyes to Bronn. "I have nothing..." Jaime whispered shaking his head hopelessly. "I acted on impulse, without thinking of it... without weighing in the consequences... I have no plan and I do not know what to do... all I know is that it is too late to turn back now..." He admitted.

"You fucker! I told you this in Dorne, but you are thicker than a mule! Entering enemy territory with no plan is how one gets one's hand chopped off! Seeing that you've already got only one useless hand, I suppose you're gonna get your pretty head chopped off next! Thing is, Lannister, I don't want to have my head on a spike next to yours... so let's make a fucking plan!"

Jaime widened his eyes at Bronn's words. Maybe the man was truly a friend... a friend he paid and bribed, but somehow a friend still. After all, they've traveled the Seven Kingdoms side by side, from Dorne to nearly Winterfell... Bronn had trained him and kept the secret, Bronn had been there when he sent Brienne safely away from King's Landing and kept the secret, Bronn had seen him cry over Myrcella's dead body and kept the secret... somehow they cared for each other, but they kept it a secret.

"There will be a battle for the North, between the Boltons and the Starks..."

"There are no more Starks..." Bronn noted dully.

"There are two left. The infamous bastard of the honourable Eddard Stark, who somehow left the Night's Watch without consequence and there's... well, my sister by law, Lady Sansa Lannister." Jaime said tilting his head sarcastically.

"Rumour has it she's Sansa Bolton now..."

"We can call her names all we want, but the truth is the girl's a wolf. With her family gone, hers should be the North... and she seems to want it back." There was not much love lost between him and his brother's former bride. In fact, until recently, Jaime had never seen her as anything but a fragile damsel in distress who needed saving by some valiant knight. Since he had vowed to keep the delicate wolf safe, Jaime had sent to the rescue the best knight he knew. _I don't think you know many girls like her_... Brienne voice whispered in his ear. She seemed to truly value and admire the Stark girl and that alone pushed Jaime into believing there might be more to her than just a victim of circumstances. 

"Why you care who rules the North? Your kid's a weakling who can barely hold the Crownlands together. He's got no need of the most rebellious kingdom." Bronn frowned.

Jaime's whole body tensed and he turned his head around to check if anyone was near enough to hear Bronn's words. "Call him that out loud again and I will smack your teeth out!" He hissed.

"Fine... lie to yourself if you must! _Your kid_ is a grand King. Happy now?" Bronn laughed and Jaime's fist flung towards him. The sellsword caught it effortlessly. "You eager to eat some mud, Lannister?" Bronn threatened, tightening his grip on Jaime's hand.

"I can smack you with my gold hand!" Jaime hissed.

"I would like to see you try!" Bronn laughed and Jaime rolled his eyes, freeing his fist and lowering it with no intention of continuing the quarrel. "You sure you don't want to fight me? Jumping with no plan at the throat of someone stronger than you seems to be your thing..."

"I'm good..."

"Alright then... back to telling me why you care who freezes in Winterfell this winter." Bronn inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"My sword is there." Jaime said matter-of-factly.

"Your sword is belted at your hip." Bronn snorted.

"This is not _my_ sword..." Jaime whispered looking at the golden hilt of the sword belonging to his bastards. In his anger at being sent away, Jaime had sneaked into Tommen's room and 'borrowed' the sword. He doubted the King even noticed. He had never been a real father, but one fatherly instinct he did have - the one of being disappointed in his children. For years, Jaime had utterly hated his sons' gross incompetence at sword-fighting. Those two were unworthy of Valyrian steel. Thinking of Joffrey and Tommen, his mouth spoke without him: "My real sword is the one with a lion on it... the one my father gave to his true heir in the hope I'll later give to mine..."

"Didn't you give that sword to the beauty of Tar... ooooh... ooooooooh.." Bronn laughed harder and harder as the realisation settled in. "Now it all makes sense! We are riding north to save the one _sword_ fit for giving you true heirs... for being given to your true heirs, I mean..." Bronn corrected himself with a sarcastic grin. "Aren't you a true knight in shining armour, Lannister?" He smirked. "Though I am not sure your sword needs saving. Valyrian steel that one! Pretty sure it can fend real nice for itself... also, why is she a sword? Why not a sheath... in which to sink your own hard throbbing sword... or you're just admitting she's more man than you are..."

"What are you talking about?" Jaime frowned.

"Your _sword _! I knew you were dying to fuck her... I just didn't know it was more than that. Paint me impressed, Lannister!"

"I do not understand your nonsense!" Brienne's face came to him. Jaime shook it off. He could not allow himself to consciously accept his metaphor. He could not afford to admit to the truth of it... What was the truth of it anyway?

"Alright, alright..." Bronn laughed. "So how do we plan to retrieve that sword? I suppose we are joining the battle and fighting for the Starks... then why are we in the Barrowlands? Why didn't we take it east of Moat Cailin? It seems more likely the Starks would attack from the east."

Jaime shook his head. "No... absolutely not. It would be a stupid mistake to attack from the east. If I were the commander of an army descending to Winterfell from Castle Black in order to go against the Boltons, I would most certainly avoid entering Bolton territory... The Karstarks turned against the Starks during Robb's rebellion and House Umber is the most opportunistic house of the North. I would not be surprised if they were on the Boltons' side by now. Attacking from the East is not an option for Snow... They must have left Castle Black west, probably on a quest of rallying the smaller houses to their cause. If Snow is any good, he'll tae his army through the Wolfswood and attack from North West. It's what I would do."

"For all your flaws, you're a really competent military man." Bronn said with a semblance of respect. "So I suppose we are on the right track... where are we meeting them?"

"Meeting who?" Jaime frowned.

"Snow's army."

"We are not fighting for the Starks!" Jaime exclaimed outraged. "In case you have missed the obvious, House Lannister has been at war with House Stark for half a decade now!"

"What? We're fighting for the fucking Boltons?" Bronn snarled.

"No!"

"There isn't a third party, you cunt!"

Jaime shook his head. "Fighting for the Starks would be betraying my family! You think I would betray my family?"

"You betrayed your family the moment you left the Twins in the wrong direction!"

"I did no such thing!" Jaime tried to defend himself.

"Really? How do you plan to explain to your delightful sister - without making it sound like a betrayal - that you left her face a dreadful trial all alone, while you took a good chunk of your family's cavalry North to save your side chick from a battle she quite frankly might not need saving from?"

"Brienne is not..." Jaime clenched his teeth. "I am not here for her!" Why was he there for her?

"Of course not!" Bronn hissed. "You're here to save a sword! A sword you never swung, not even in sword practice, a sword you never even wanted... a sword you gave away wholeheartedly, a sword that's the twin of the one you're currently carrying! Tell me, Lannister, who dropped you so hard in your head that all the women you want to fuck need to be your twins somehow!"

"Careful!" Jaime hissed.

"Careful or what? You're gonna shove your fancy sword in my back when I'm not expecting it? We both know you stand no chance at beating me unless you make use of your dear old Kingslayer move." Jaime stood up angered. Bronn laughed looking at him. "Right, that's the thing you're sensitive about!" Jaime strolled past him, hurrying towards his tent.

"Lannister!" Bronn stopped him in his tracks. As Jaime turned around to face him one more time, Broon stood up from the log and walked towards him. "First rule of hunting... never chase two rabbits at once, for you'll catch none. Let go of the one that was closer to your grip for so long. That one's rabid to the core! Just go for the other one whole-heartedly. We're here anyway! The deed is done! Own it... You've laid your bed. You've made your choice... grasp it!"

"I will not fight for the Starks!" Jaime said resolutely.

"Your sword will."

"I will not fight for the Starks!" He hissed again.

"Then the fuck you're gonna do?"

And in that momen, Jaime made up his mind. There was a middle way. "We are going to ride to Winterfell in the name of King Tommen to ensure the peace of the Realm the way we did at Riverrun."

"How will that get you any closer to your sword? You'll end up across the battlefield from her... it."

"There will be no battle. I will stop the battle." 

Bronn rolled his eyes in annoyance: "How?"

"The Boltons are our allies and they are in our debt. We are going to Winterfell as guests and I will make a deal with the new Lord Bolton. A compromise. I will ensure the safety of Sansa and Brienne by having them sent to Tarth. I will fulfil my oath to Lady Catelyn, but I will play no part in House Stark's rebirth from ashes. I am a Lannister! Everything I have ever done I did for my family and I will do so until I die."

Bronn smiled sadly and placed a hand on his shoulder, patting him softly. "That precious _sword_ you want so badly will never be yours... cuz' you're a fucking coward, Lannister!" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking forward to hearing how you liked the chapter. Xx


	3. Welcome to Winterfell!

Jaime stood tall on his horse, atop of a hill, overlooking the monstrosity Winterfell was. The ancestral castle of the Starks and the current seat of power of House Bolton had struck Jaime as grim and unwelcoming even the first time he had been there. In spite of the bright mid-summer sun and all efforts made by Ned and Catelyn Stark to prepare the castle for its royal guests, Winterfell failed to rise above the general greyness of the North. Now, in the dawn of winter and under the rule of its new Lords, the sight of Winterfell sent shivers down the lion’s spine. It looked daunting as if haunted by the Stranger himself.

“Not that one…” Bronn said, mounted on a horse right beside him. Jaime did not reply but turned his head to look at his friend with a questioning expression in his eyes. Bronn looked at Jaime and gestured with his chin towards Winterfell. “When you finally get me a castle, make sure it’s not this one. Makes me want to piss myself.”

“You’ve got requirements now?” Jaime frowned.

“Aye!” Bronn nodded. “Not this one.”

“There’s something about it, isn’t it?” His emerald green gaze scrutinized the thick walls once more.

“Death!” Bronn declared and Jaime agreed with a nod, eyes not leaving Winterfell.

“Must be the crypts underneath...” He thought out loud. Jaime had never seen them, but he had been forced to read about and memorise the particularities of each great castle. And then it was the dream, of course! The crypts of Winterfell had revealed themselves to him in the form of a nightmare. _Brienne..._ His mind cried her name. He had seen her down there, in chains, a prisoner of Lord Bolton. In his dream, that Lord had been the man who freed him from the wolves. But that man had died of recent, poisoned by his enemies - the raven said. He could only hope the son was as inclined as the father to butcher Starks and ally himself with the Lannisters. For nothing could change! Jaime was determined to keep the alliance with the Boltons as strong as his father had left it. His incursion in the North would not be detrimental to House Lannister! Him being there solely to take Brienne of Tarth, and implicitly Sansa Stark, to safety was to remain a secret as well kept as his motivation for slaying the Mad King. The Lannister cavalry was at the gates of Winterfell in the name of King Tommen, to restore the peace in the North and to offer the westerners' unwavering support for the new order of the realm. That new order had a name - Ramsay Bolton! And that was the only truth Jaime was eager to admit to. 

“Our riders.” Bronn interrupted his trail of thoughts and Jaime’s attention turned immediately towards where the cutthroat was pointing.

As Commander, he had sent a party of five horses to announce his troops' presence to Lord Bolton - two of his most trusted knights, two squires holding Lannister banners and a squire carrying the white flag. They were there in peace. They were there as allies! Now the five riders were returning and Jaime turned his horse around, galloping to meet them where the rest of his men were waiting.

“Well?” Jaime inquired, slightly short of breath and entirely too eager.

“Lord Bolton welcomes us to Winterfell, Ser." The calculated Ser Jon Bettley assured him. "He can host within the castle 30 of our men and we are welcomed to make the camp by the castle’s walls or to take up residence in the Winter Town.”

“Any conditions as to where to set our camp?” The Commander wondered.

“None were made.”

“Good!" Jaime turned towards his troops and spoke to them loudly and assertively. "We’ll set up camp by the western walls of Winterfell. Fly the Lannister banners high on every tent. Jon Snow will most likely send scouts to survey Bolton’s troops. Let our presence be known to him. Unless new orders are given, House Bolton has the Crown's support! No wildling rebellious army defies our King!”

The troops cheered a long while and then Jaime addressed his second in command, Ser Lyle Crakehall, the boy he had grown up with while squiring for his father. Lyle Crakehall, the Strongboar, was one of the largest and strongest men of Westeros. He was a brilliant fighter, albeit slower and less destructive than the Mountain, but a great asset of the Westerlands nonetheless. Jaime instructed him to designate the best 25 fighters in the cavalry for spending the nights within the castle, as well as the three smartest officers. Ser Bettley and the Strongboar were both to remain with the troops.

"You know the plan?" Jaime whispered to Ser Crakehall. 

“All too well, Commander.” The large man nodded.

“And the back-up plan?” 

“Better than the plan itself.” The adjutant assured Jaime.

“I hope with everything I have that it will not come to that..." Jaime confessed. "But in case the Boltons fail us... be ready.” The Strongboar nodded. "Tonight, triple the number of men on night’s watch and yourself be on guard at all time. If you see the signal…” Jaime gave the hulky knight a knowing look and he nodded clenching his teeth.

"Alright..." Jaime said turning his horse around. "Come on, Bronn. Let’s meet this new Lord Bolton.”

With his friend at his side and half a dozen guards, Jaime galloped towards Winterfell and then through its gates in the inner courtyard. His arrival was but a poor replica of the grandiose entrance of King Robert and his court, over half a decade before. A man with black hair and black eyes awaited for him in the stead of Ned Stark's family. He stood alone with a handful of his own guards and a large grin on his face. Instinctively, Jaime disliked him. Yet he dismounted his horse and walked towards the young man with his head held high.

“Welcome to Winterfell! I am Ramsay Bolton, Lord Paramount of the North and Warden of the North.” Bolton extended his left hand, a courtsey that did not escape Jaime’s notice. He took Ramsay's hand and gave it a strong shake.

“Jaime Lannister, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands and Warder of the West.”

The young Bolton smiled wickedly. “The good news of your accession had not reached the North, my Lord Lannister.”

“It’s probably due to the chaos that reigns in the North, my Lord Bolton.” Jaime replied matching his counterpart's vile smile. “King Tommen has relieved me of my duties as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and entrusted me with the mission of ensuring the peace of the realm before assuming my role in the Rock. The war of the five Kings is over, a new era begins and our good King wants to see that each and every one of the seven kingdoms prepares for the end of autumn. As I am sure every wall of this castle reminds you, Lord Bolton… winter is coming!”

Jaime saw Ramsay clenching his teeth. “The North can fend for itself, Lord Lannister.”

“I am sure it is true, Lord Bolton.” Jaime nodded. “But unfortunately, during the short siege of Riverrun, we captured a messenger sent by Jon Snow in order to negotiate the support of House Tully for an upcoming battle for the North. In the light of King Tommen’s concern, and in our capacity as allies of House Bolton, we are here to offer our support. But I shall like to discuss more of this somewhere private… and potentially after we refresh from our long ride.”

“There are no words with which to express our gratitude, Lord Lannister, towards you and King Tommen – long may he reign.” Ramsay all but hissed. “I shall be delighted to hear everything you have to say during an intimate supper. Lord Karstark and Lord Umber, my Northern allies, shall join us.”

“So shall my adviser, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater.” Jaime imposed.

“Absolutely…” Ramsay nodded.

The room he was settled in was by far better than the one he had occupied during his previous stay. The hearth was massive and sported three fires, the bed was large and covered in delightfully soft furs and the room had its own private bathroom with a circular tub kept warm by the famous springs running beneath Winterfell. Jaime took his clothes off and stepped inside. He let his body be covered by water up to his neck... and Harrenhall came to his mind. Jaime closed his eyes and conjured Brienne's image in his mind. She came to him naked, as she always did, and his heart ached longingly. _Gods, are you safe? Are you safe in Snow's camp?_ His mind cried.

If his plan worked, Brienne would never forgive him… but she would be truly safe. She would hate him for the rest of her days... but she would be safe. He would never see her again... but she would be safe. The thought of any harm befalling her made his insides revolt. In his mind, they were both in the baths of Harrenhall. She swam to him and wrapped her arms around his middle. Jaime gulped painfully and bit his lip as a desperate urge to cry filled his chest. He had never wrapped his arms around her... he had never held her to his chest... never hugged her... and if his plan worked, nor will he ever do any of that! But she would be safe and sound and away from battlegrounds. A sacrifice worth making! She would be home on Tarth, learning to rule her sapphire island... safe... truly safe... it was all that mattered!

Dressed in fresh clothes, yet discretely wearing his maille underneath and Widdow's Wail at his hip, Jaime was escorted to a dining room, meeting Bronn with a guard down the corridor. The exchange of looks between the two friends was reassuring. They both hoped for the best, yet had prepared for the worst.

Ramsay Bolton welcomed them with a large grin on his face and asked them to take a seat at a rather lavished table. Jaime could not help but notice he was distinctively handsome when dotting that smile. Despite being born a bastard, Ramsay had what it took to be a real Lord - at least in looks if not in anything else. The young man was quite impossible to read and Jaime had a hard time trying to profile him. His manners seemed good enough, given the context, and he appeared eager to rekindle his father's alliance with the south. Personally, he did not like the young man, but he had decisively seen worse. In spite of himself, Jaime said a silent prayer hoping that everything would go according to his plan.

“To King Tommen’s health and prosperous reign!” Lord Bolton toasted raising his cup of wine. 

“To King Tommen!” It was only five of them in there, just as Ramsay had promised in the courtyard. Lord Harald Karstark was a shy and silent man, about as competent at being a ruler as the youngest son of a Lord can be expected to be. Jaime needed less than ten seconds to understand that Ramsay had Karstark in his pocket. Lord Umber, on the other hand, looked rather intimidating. He seemed to be a strong man, determined and witty. Unlike Karstark, Umber knew why he was there and what his men were fighting for. Umber was the one Bolton trusted and Jaime took good note of it.

“How is King Tommen? I am afraid that since my father’s passing I have been increasingly distressed by the problems of the North and forgot to worry about the concerning news we had received from King’s Landing." Ramsay said cutting his meat. "Rumours had it the Queens were imprisoned and humiliated in the streets!”

In a heartbeat, Jaime’s mind was possessed by Cersei. That gut-wrenching sense of panic he struggled to keep at way overwhelmed him at once. What was he doing?! What was he doing at Winterfell? What was he doing so far up in the North, walking on moving sands, negotiating with long lost allies, when the woman he loved was about to face a brutal trial? The trial! The trial! Had it passed? Had the Mountain won? Was Cersei safe? He gulped, his heart racing and his blood boiling. He had hurried to save Brienne, but what if Cersei was in danger? Cersei... his Cersei... his sweet sister... his woman... his love... What was he doing there? Why was he there?! Why did it even matter to him whether Brienne was safe or not? He knew the answer to that, but he would never acknowledge it! It was not true! The only woman in his life was Cersei!

He loved Cersei and Cersei alone!

He adored Cersei and Cersei alone! 

He had to end the madness as soon as possible and hurry back to her! He would ride day and night and he would not stop until he was back in her sweet arms! He would fuck her until she could not walk and she would give him a child... they will be together forever... in love... it will be good and Brienne would be safe on Tarth... hating him, but safe... truly safe... 

Jaime tried to keep his focus. His plan had to work! Bolton seemed reasonable enough, cunning and slippery, just like his father, but he definitely knew his interest. All Jaime had to do was to make the good trade and then diplomacy would win! He would claim Brienne and Sansa as his prisoners and ship them safely to Tarth! And good riddance! He’d gallop back to Cersei and never leave her again! Never ever in his entire life would he leave Cersei again! On all Gods, he swore it! He would forever be a loyal brother, a faithful man to her... but he simply had to make sure Brienne was safe first. He just had to! Damned be the reason why... but he just had to keep his precious _sword _safe.

“The rumours you heard are false." Jaime said clearing his voice. "What is true is that the tragedy of war has awakened the fear of Gods in the southern population. The Faith has regained its rightful position as a pillar of the Seven Kingdoms. It will support the Crown in its struggle to keep the realms above perdition come this winter. Quen Mother Cersei and Queen Margaery alike have offered their utmost support to the new Great Septon. We call him the High Sparrow. The Queens have spent some time in seclusion atoning for their sins, but I assure you that they have done so by their own volition.”

Ramsay nodded. “It is most reassuring to hear this. Ravens at war are hard to trust… I always prefer a direct talk with our counterparts in the south… and west. Tell us frankly, Lord Lannister, can we truly rely on your help?”

“Lord Bolton, my father and your father have struck a very unlikely alliance in a very unlikely time. It was all but a miracle, if you ask me, a diplomatic breakthrough of great importance. I feel that it is of our duty, as successors, to see this alliance continue its good path. Before I answer your question, you need to answer one of mine. Does House Bolton have ambitions of independence and rebellion?”

“Not at all, my Lord Lannister. House Bolton is loyal to the Crown and so shall the North be under our rule. The unjustified ambitions of the Starks have caused the North too much. My dear Lords present here can confirm this misfortune in sons and fathers lost across their lands.” Karstark and Umber nodded in unison. “We seek no battle. We are merely preparing to defend the castle against its attackers!"

"Then you can truly rely on our support!" Jaime pledged. "How large are your forces?"

“Over 5000 men, out of which 1000 mounted. By our records, Snow has less than half our numbers. As you can see, House Bolton can handle a rebellious bastard.” Ramsay hissed.

“That is great news. And your numbers are getting better, as now you have 500 more riders at hand - the very best of the Lannister cavalry. A further 2000 knights, as well as 6000 soldiers, are marching our way as we speak. The King offers you the bulk of the western force, but he would really rather there be no battle.” Jaime felt Bronn’s eyes on him. He could not tell whether his friend was approving or disapproving of his charade, but what he could tell was that Ramsay felt uncomfortable at the news.

“I did not know you had reinforcements on the way.” Lord Umber said with a raised eyebrow.

“They are not reinforcements, Lord Umber. They are the troops… it’s my cavalry that’s the avant-garde. We hurried slightly to militate for peace, to take the diplomatic way. The King hopes the dispute could be settled through a duel.”

“A duel?” Ramsay frowned, nearly choking on his food.

“A duel – each side names a champion and they duel…” Jaime replied on a distinctively patronising tone. Bronn coughed beside him and Jaime clenched his teeth, taking the note – a little less Lannister arrogance could not hurt.

“Jon Snow’s reputation as a sword-fighter is as great as yours was when you were whole.” Ramsay hissed and a flicker of madness transpired on his face. “Why should I risk a battle I know too well it is mine already? Why should I accept the help of the south, when I can obviously win the war by myself and owe nothing to anyone?”

“Because 6000 Lannister soldiers are on the march…” Jaime said raising the wine to his lips.

“Is that a threat, Lord Lannister?” Umber demanded.

“By no means!” Jaime said hoarsely. “It’s an assurance of the North's loyalty to the Crown.” Putting his wine down, Jaime sighed and looked into Ramsay's eyes. He allowed his features to soften and his voice to betray emotions. “You are young, Lord Ramsay... you may not know the history I have with the man who used to own this castle. Saying that we despised each other would be an understatement. No Lannister would want to see the Starks holding the North ever again! And I want it less than anyone else! My family and I thought we were done with the Starks! They are a nuisance! They have caused us nothing but misery and we rejoiced in our vengeance! My disappointment upon hearing the headless bodies of the wolves are still striving to make a final stand is beyond anything your lordship can imagine!" Jaime stressed every syllable while his emerald gaze mesmerised the black-haired man in front of him. "House Lannister believed House Bolton can and should hold the north! We ended the war together! My father gave the word, your father slew the arrogant usurper! They saved the realm, they save thousands of lies.” Walder Frey’s speech came to his mind and Jaime channelled all his manipulation skills into delivering the words in a compelling manner: “We should stand together now and through the centuries – good friends to the very last! When a sword will be driven through Snow’s heart, everyone from the Wall to Dorne shall speak the words of our alliance… the Boltons and Lannisters send their regards!" Ramsay gasped in awe and in that moment Jaime knew he was a bloodthirsty, dangerous cunt. But he had to feed his ambitions if he was to succeed. "You and I, my dear Lord, will finish what our fathers started! You and I will end the Starks!” Ramsay’s eyes were flickering in madness and his smile was as wide as his face.

“I will drink to that!” Ramsay all but shouted, extending his cup towards Jaime. Jaime clinked his cup with that of his host before them both downed their beverages.

Ramsay summoned the page boy to him and whispered something in his ear. He then looked towards Lord Karstark, who nodded like an obedient dog. The shy man excused himself from the table and followed the page boy out of the room. Ramsay turned his attention back to Jaime. “We will have it all your way, Ser Jaime! But I demand Jon Snow for myself.”

Jaime nodded. “By all means, the bastard will be yours! You have my word! There will be a battle if there must be a battle, but we have to try the King’s way first, for he is our King and we bow to him. King Tommen is a pious man. A man of deep faith, highly religious. His good heart and his creed command him to be merciful. A duel is not a settlement I would ever choose myself…” Jaime lied tilting his head. Winning a battle without bloodshed was always the path he strove to choose. But Ramsay did not know him, so he shamelessly channelled his Kingslayer reputation for all it was worth. “I would not ask this of you, were my other nephew still on the throne…” Jaime let his eyes fall in his plate and sighed deeply. “Our King Joffrey was a warrior... much like yourself and myself. Yet he was brutally murdered while rejoicing at his own wedding." He lifted his head and looked straight at Ramsay. "Lord Bolton, you demanded Jon Snow and I complied gladly. I demand Sansa Lannister.”

Ramsay laughed. “She’s Sansa Bolton – she’s my wife and I want her back!”

“Where I come from, we call her Sansa Lannister and she stands accused of regicide!” Jaime hissed.

“Sansa was not involved in King Joffrey’s murder.” Ramsay shook his head.

“How about we let Queen Cersei decide that?” Jaime smirked maliciously.

“I need my wife! I cannot concede.”

The lion shook his head and said resolutely. “Lord Bolton, this is a new age, a new era! Why build it with the blood of the past. If you and Lady Sansa have children, chances are the Northerners will see them more as Starks than as Boltons. The North is yours! It shall be yours for as long as you remain loyal to the Crown! Your alliance with House Lannister will ensure it! You do not need Sansa! Let my sister have her!” He demanded with a roar, allowing a sense of desperation and a great dose of false hatred towards the red-headed wolf to transpire on his features.

“Queen Cersei wants Sansa so dearly?” 

“More than you could ever imagine! Give our sister by law to us and the Lannisters shall be in your debt. I will make sure King Tommen himself will arrange the greatest of marriages for you and Cersei and I shall give you the bride's weight in gold and her weight in sapphires...” Jaime's eyes flashed opened wide at his mind's slip and he slowly shook his head. "... in rubies! Your bride's weight in rubies!" He corrected himself promptly. There were no sapphires in the Westerlands. The mines that had made his family wealthy beyond words were of gold and rubies - the colours of his house. Yet he could hardly remember how a ruby looked like! The only precious stones he could picture in his mind were Brienne's sapphire eyes sparkling in all their blue splendour. His heart skipped beats and he yearned to see her eyes! He had to keep her safe, no matter the cost! Jaime was more than eager to promise Ramsay Bolton all the gold and all the rubies in the Westerlands if that meant he could take Brienne, and implicitly Sansa, away from the North.

“All too well. In the name of our houses’ alliance, Lady Sansa _whatever-her-last-name_ shall be yours in exchange for a new bride, gold and rubies, as well as your army's support should the Jon Snow not agree with a duel.”

Jaime smiled widely and so did Ramsay. The plan was going impeccably! Better than in his wildest dreams! His heart felt light and full of hope.

As they all toasted once more for the restrengthened alliance between House Lannister and House Bolton, a knock on the door echoed in the room. Ramsay stood up promptly and looked at Jaime in anticipation.

“I have a present for you, Lord Lannister. A token of my good faith!”

Jaime stood up as well, just as Lord Karstark returned to the room, holding something covered in furs onto his forearms. Ramsay hurried that way. With his back at Jaime, he removed at once the furs and took the gift in his own hands. He turned around and present the offering to his guest:

“I believe you have somehow lost this!”

As his emerald eyes fell on Oathkeeper, Jaime felt his blood running cold and his whole world turning dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! Xx


	4. Self-control...

_Brienne is dead_.

It was the first thought that echoed in his mind as time stopped around him and dark claws pulled at his legs, making them heavy and unreliable. Only with great difficulty did he resist giving way to the overwhelming sensation of falling to the ground. Yet he remained on his feet, albeit with no certainty of being able to stand for much longer. _Brienne is dead. Brienne is dead. Brienne is dead._ The words spun in his head over and over and over again, rendering him numb.

Darkness. Blinding darkness surrounded him for what felt like an eternity. _Brienne is dead! _The dreadful words abandoned their immateriality and turned into arrows piercing his body with the speed and savagery of a hunting falcon. He was bleeding heavily. _Brienne is dead. _He would not be able to take it much longer. He was going to sink to his knees at Ramsay’s feet just as he had sunk at those of his father’s. _“Have you not heard?”_ Roose Bolton’s voice called at him from afar. _“Stannis Baratheon laid siege to King’s Landing, sailed into Blackwater Bay, stormed the gates with thousands of men… and your sister… your sister…” _Jaime would have given his other hand to hear Ramsay repeat his father’s words, this time about Brienne. _“… is alive and well.”_ But there was nothing he could hold onto. Knowing his _sword_ as he did, the only way in which the precious Valyrian blade was now in Ramsay’s hands was if the bastard had snatched it from her cold dead hands.

_Brienne is dead! _His mind cried again and he felt a real sob rising in his throat.

“Blimey!” As if in a dream, Jaime heard Bronn exclaiming. The knighted cutthroat stood from the table noisily, his chair grazing the stone floors with a purposefully loud rattling, forcing Jaime back to his senses. Vaguely, the shadowy shape of Ramsay Bolton returned to him and ever so flimsy did the room around. The darkness faded and reality seemed to settle back in.

“It’s your fucking sword!” As Bronn walked towards where he and Ramsay were standing, Jaime felt his friend’s gaze resting on the back of his skull. _You fucking cunt!_ Jaime imagined – felt! – Bronn thinking. _Don’t do anything stupid!_ That distinctive accent urged him, ringing loud inside his head. As if on a cue, Jaime’s impulses pushed him to do the opposite. Brienne was dead! What was the point of not doing something stupid? As his hand reached for the hilt of Widow’s Wail, Ramsay frowned, dark eyes sparkling with such madness Jaime had never seen before. A heartbeat - that is all it was.

Jaime's heart paused compelled by that look in Ramsay's eyes and, at that moment, it dawned on him it was a trap – a provocation.

_Fucking Bolton’s got my sword!_ Brienne was alive. Jaime now knew it with the certainty of a military man who has handled prisoners of great value before.

Somehow, Ramsay was aware of the fact that certain history existed between his uninvited Lannister guest and the beauty of Tarth. Unsurprisingly so. After all, much of that history revolved around Bolton men. What did Ramsay know? Where did he know it from? How much leeway could Jaime count on? He had to think! He had to focus! He had to be smart about it! Had it been Roose to talk about him and Brienne to his son? Jaime thought it unlikely. Roose Bolton had not struck him as the gossiping type. Moreover, he had already been on his way to slaying the Stark King, when Jaime returned to save Brienne from the men he had left behind at Harrenhall. _Locke!_ His brain shouted and the face of the man who had ruined his life smirked in the back of his mind. Locke knew plenty about Brienne! Locke was the type of mollusc who surely told his new Lord about how the Kingslayer returned to save the maiden fair... it was a hell of a story!

Jaime stopped his hand short of wrapping its fingers around the Valyrian blade he was carrying. Instead, he smirked greedily, fingers resting on the buckle of the belt holding the sword at his hip.

If Brienne was alive, her life depended on him forsaking their history. On him denying she mattered a copper’s worth to him! On him ridiculing whatever Locke had told Ramsay. On him not being the man who started a brawl with Ned Stark on the streets of King’s Landing. On him not being the man whose loose tongue cost him his sword-hand. Brienne's life depended on his self-control. And every so often, when it truly mattered, he had some of that. 

Unbuckling the belt with a determined and well-trained motion of his only hand, Jaime took Widow’s Wail down and handed it to Bronn, just as he stopped his tracks at his friend’s side. A smile larger than life graced the lion’s face, as his hand moved to the sword Ramsay was holding as an offering.

“How?” Jaime asked licking his lips, his tongue passing over them in a distinctively sleazy fashion.

“A week ago, my men captured that spy you mentioned about, the one the Starks sent to rally the Black Fish’s armies to their unworthy cause. Somehow, she slipped through your hands and escaped Riverrun.”

“That was a woman?” Jaime snarled frowning, prompting Bronn to burst into exaggerated laughter and Lord Karstark to follow suit. The tension caused by Jaime's short five seconds of hesitation dissipated in a heartbeat. The air in the room became lighter again.

“She’s a beast of a woman, but a woman still.” Karstark laughed walking back to the table. “Lord Bolton can vouch for what's between her legs.”

Jaime needed a moment too long to understand the meaning of Karstark’s words, enough for Bronn to stop him from reacting badly. _He touched her! _His mind screamed and his blood reached the boiling point before anyone could bat an eyelash. Yet Bronn's hand landed heavy on him. Three manly pats on the plate beneath Jaime’s shoulder and a snarl through fits of laughter: 

“If the new bride our good Lord Bolton wishes is the beauty of Tarth, you’re gonna have to pay him a fuckload of gold and rubies.” _He touched my sword! _Bronn's remark made Ramsay laugh out loud. _He touched my woman! _Bronn's fingers dug at him in a desperate attempt to keep him grounded. But his brain wanted to have none of that! His missing hand was itching to slay everyone in sight! _He touched her! He touched her! He touched her! _Seemingly unaware of the rage bubbling up within his guest, Ramsay appeared to relax and regain his trust in his southern allies. As Bolton took his hands off the sword, Jaime clenched his on Oathkeeper.

A token of good faith – Ramsay had called it. _He touched her! _A token Jaime wanted to see planted right into him. Right into his chest - no! Between his eyes! No! He'd cut his cock first, shove it down his throat and cut his head! _"Ser Jaime... please..."_ Brienne's voice begged and Jaime's eyes rested on the blade he was now holding. He clenched his teeth and counted to ten. Restraint! Her life depended on it. Self-control... he had some of that!

“And where is that bitch who got my hand cut, stole my sword amidst King Joffrey's funeral and ran like a coward, through the back door, from the siege of Riverrun?” The lion demanded to know, still gazing at Oathkeeper with hungry eyes. Jaime could not look at Ramsay for he knew himself well enough. _He touched her! _His unhelpful mind reminded him. One look and there would be blood. Jaime could not risk it - not when his heart was pumping pure hatred the way it did. Not when the fog gathered inside his skull turning him into the murderous monster everyone thought him to be. _He touched her! _The dream that made him abandon his senses and take the road north came back to him. _Brienne naked and chained, at the mercy of Lord Bolton. _A different Lord Bolton, but true all the same and he wanted to scream! To roar! To jump at Ramsay's throat! To kill! To kill them all... and that was what he was going to do!

_Seven give me patience! _He prayed desperately, knowing all too well he needed all the self-control the damned Gods had so scarcely graced him with.

“She’s on a leash. Worry not for your gold and red stones, Lord Lannister, I do not plan to wed such an abomination. The bride I will expect King Tommen to send me in exchange for Lady Sansa should be more beautiful than the Queen Mother.” Ramsay said inviting his guests to return to their dinner. “With that beast of Tarth, I am merely seeking vengeance on my wife, for escaping and killing my Myranda on her way out.” Bronn shook his head, still laughing the way a man of his birth was expected to when women were talked about with no respect. Yet, he was still keeping a hand firm on Jaime's shoulder. As discretely as he could, the sellsword gave his friend a push in the direction of the table. Jaime obliged politely.

Reaching his seat again, Jaime placed Oathkeeper over the back of the chair and Bronn placed Widow’s Wail atop its twin. The two knights returned to the meat and potatoes in their plates. All seemed well, yet nothing was.

With the irrational determination of a madman, Jaime was hells bent on abandoning his plan. Nothing in the world, not even the sudden materialisation of his sister, could stop him from killing Ramsay Bolton that very night.

Jaime looked at how his host swallowed his dinner. _Enjoy, _he thought, _for it's your last meal._

When he left the dining room with Bronn at his heel, the two Lannister knights who had been waited on guard by the door followed their commander as faithful shadows. Having dined in the Great Keep, Jaime had to make his way back to the chamber he had been offered in the First Keep. He entertained no illusion Ramsay Bolton was not spying on him, so Jaime decided to dissimulate a deep sense of trust in his allies and dismissed his guards loudly while in the courtyard separating the two Keeps.

"Get a good rest, Sers! I am sure we all miss sleeping with a roof above our heads." He told his guards in a sympathetic tone. They nodded, while polite chuckles left their lips. "And if the beds are too soft and you cannot sleep after so much time spent in campaign tents, I've heard nothing makes the eyelids heavier than a history book. Winterfell has a library, so check it out!"

Bronn looked at him widening his eyes and the two knights nodded knowingly. _The signal. _The plan had failed, they were moving forward with the back-up plan.

The guards went their way towards the Guest House, to let the others know the Commander had given the signal. Bronn and Jaime followed their path to the First Keep.

"Are you sure, Lannister?" Bronn whispered. “I support this course of action more than the charade, you know I do… but are you sure you’ve got the courage to do it?”

“He touched Brienne!” Jaime hissed. Self-control? He had none!

“All too well by me, Winterfell falls tonight. But will you be able to stomach your decision tomorrow, once the bloodthirst is out of your system? If you do this, there is no turning back – the restoration of the Starks will be your doing and yours alone.”

“The things I do for love...” Jaime sighed entering the First Keep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess Ramsay's dead... and Jaime is #TeamSnow now.


	5. I dreamt of you and woke up screaming...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!! TRIGGER WARNINGS !!!!!
> 
> Graphic depictions of violence (really graphic and really violent).
> 
> \+ implied sexual abuse (only implied, not insisted on, but just be warned that Ramsay did touch Jaime's sword). 

Reaching the First Keep at an even pace, not to raise suspicion on the upcoming attack, Jaime all but ran up the stairs to the chamber he had been given. He closed and barred the door behind him and Bronn, before throwing Oathkeeper unceremoniously on the bed. Without saying a word, he took off his dining clothes and the chain maille underneath and trailed towards the stand of his battle wear. With a corner of an eye, he saw Bronn placing Widow's Wail right beside its twin. Then the sellsword walked to him to offer his assistance with the bulky armour.

“So ehm'... a couple of our men within will set the Library Tower on fire…” Bronn rehearsed the back-up plan and Jaime nodded.

“Yes, the fire is the signal and then, within a quarter of the hour, Strongboar and Bettley will have all men ready to attack. The knights we have with us will take care of the archers on watch, while you go open the western gate to let them all pour in. Then my cavalry will sack Winterfell. As I’ve left the orders with Strongboar, they will cut down every man on sight who has the slightest resemblance of a weapon in hand.”

“Well, well, Lannister, aren’t you your father’s true heir, following in his footsteps and all...” Bronn laughed and Jaime rolled his eyes. He was his father’s son alright, except he would keep his men's wrath away from women and children, something his father had failed to do when he unleashed his armies on King's Landing.

“Once we take the castle,” Jaime continued, ignoring his friend's remark, “We have to lock all gates and prepare to hold the walls in case there will be a siege. I do not know how competent military strategists Bolton's bannermen are... but if I were a bannerman preparing for some battle for the North mere 20 miles from here and my liege lord's castle was attacked in the middle of the night, I would certainly abandon all initial battle plans and strive to save said lord first. That is what would happen in the South, but Northmen are savage rebels with questionable loyalties... so Bolton's mighty army might just scatter once he, Umber and Karstark are all hanging from the gates. But we need to be prepared for the worst and that is a siege." 

Bronn snarled and opened his mouth to give a snappy reply of some sorts, but Jaime tugged forcefully from his grip and rushed to the window although much of his armour was still loosely buckled. A flickering light had caught his eye. Down on the narrow pathway, a shadow holding a candle moved through the night. Passing the First Keep, the shadow headed slightly north and Jaime's heart began pounding.

“Bolton! He’s going to her… oh, Gods, he’s going to her!” He said so desperately that it came out as a loud screech. He rushed back to where Bronn was standing, hands shaking and face reddening in a fit of rage. “Fasten the damned armour quicker! What the hell am I paying you for?” Jaime growled, showing his teeth.

“Not your squire, you cunt! And what exactly do you think you’re doing?” Bronn frowned.

“Going after Bolton, what do you think I am doing!? Fucking fasten it faster! Faster! Faster!” He urged the sellsword, trembling from every joint of his body.

“To hells you're going! Stay put, Lannister! There’s a plan we have to follow. Stop messing around with the orders you give!” 

Jaime's emerald eyes turned dangerously dark while they locked into Bronn’s. “Stay put? You want me to stay put? Before the damned tower is set on fire and Strongboar gets the knights inside, Bolton’s got time to fuck her twice!”

“Nothing that he has not done before by now! Stick to a fucking plan for once! It's in her best interest as well.” Jaime’s fist colliding with his jaw was the only reply Bronn received.

“That was uncalled for, you fucking cunt!” The sellsword snarled, but Jaime expected a payback punch, so he dodged out of the way - twice.

“I say what is uncalled for!” Jaime hissed with all the authority of a highborn. “Fasten my damned armour before he gets to her! Fuck the plan! Fuck everything! You cannot stop me, Bronn! All of Tommen's horses and all his men cannot stop me...”

Bronn growled in frustration and manhandled Jaime with the back to him in order to finish securing his armour in place. “I miss your fucking brother! Say what you will of him, but he is a reasonable, calculated twat!”

“So calculated he put two arrows in Father, when all he had to do was follow simple directions!”

“More calculated than you still, despite that not being any achievement in itself! A fucking Dothraki horde is more calculated than you! You don’t even know where he keeps her!” The sellsword said desperately.

“Of course, I do! I know where he was heading! The Gods hate me... with good reason, but hate me still. She is in the Broken Tower... it’s where the war of the five kings started all because Bran Stark caught me fucking my sister and I pushed him off the window.”

“So now you see it all as a divine punishment?” Bronn scoffed. “Only you the rich fuckers are so self-obsessed as to believe the Gods’ actions revolve around the things you do.”

“Are you done with the bloody armour?” Jaime snarled and Bronn nodded. Rushing to the bed, he took Widow’s Wail and belted it to his hip.

“Came all this way north, crying like a babe for your fancy sword, got it back and still use the old one?” Bronn laughed looking at Oathkeeper lying untouched on the furs.

“Stop provoking me to anger, Bronn! There’s enough of that boiling inside me! You stick to the fucking plan in my stead. Open the gate for my knights and then go and bring me the heads of Karstark and Umber. I'm going after Bolton myself!” He said hurrying out the door, yet Bronn followed him.

The two men sneaked out the First Keep through a back door. There was no one around, not even a soul. There was never anyone around the path leading to the Broken Tower - that was why he and Cersei ended up there in the first place. 

Despite running towards the Tower, it felt like a whole lifetime and another half to get to it. He forced the sorry excuse of a door opened and climbed the damaged stairs two at a time. He had a fairly good idea where he would find his _sword. _Right below the fateful attic that changed the course of history was a long-disused room. In the centuries past, back when that building was the tallest watchtower of Winterfell, the room had most likely served as the chamber of those keeping guard. Hitting the door with his steel-covered shoulder, Jaime burst in, with Bronn not far behind.

The first thing he saw was Ramsay Bolton with only a shirt on and nothing else, on his knees on a raggedy bed, crawling his way atop Brienne. The second thing he saw was her. His eyes increased their size three times as a wave of shock crashed onto his chest leaving him short of breath. She was on her back, dressed in a dress several sizes too small, that much so it was torn across her left ribs out of its failure to contain her large body. Her hands were chained above her head and a dirty piece of cloth was stuck in her mouth. Ramsay's left hand was on her leg, lifting the horrible dress above her knee. 

All semblance of rationality vanished in the face of the scene unfolding before his eyes.

Any intricate scenario devised to make Ramsay suffer fell apart. Any notion of slow and painful torture went forgotten. The room around him turned red as a bestial rage possessed him entirely.

Ramsay's head turned at the sound of the door being pushed opened, but before even getting the chance to realise what was happening, Jaime leapt forward clenching his fist on the bastard's shirt. Swiftly, he pulled the younger man closer and slammed his head into his nose, before throwing him forcefully off the bed. Ramsay fell to the ground, dizzy and bleeding, and gaped his mouth at the impact. Jaime gave him no time to react. Ruthlessly, his boot collided with Bolton's ribs and the man struggled for air. Jaime allowed him no time to breathe before earnestly throwing his other boot into his stomach. The impact sent Ramsay rolling to his back, just in time for another frantic kick.

Bronn took his sword out and the sound of metal made Jaime turn his head around. "YOU STAY OUT OF IT!" He growled like a ferocious animal.

The fleeting second gave Ramsay a window to react, his foot flying straight between Jaime’s legs. The lion flinched, but the impact of a bare foot on the leather undergarments of his armour did not cause any real or lasting pain. It only made Jaime more dangerous.

He fell to his knees fist first, planting it right between Ramsay’s eyes. The bone of his already bleeding nose broke with a loud sound and Ramsay groaned. Jaime straddled him with no difficulty and punched him in the face again, golden hand pressed hard on his chest. As blood came spilling out his mouth, Bolton tried to grab Jaime by the face. When his hands came nearer, Jaime took one finger into his mouth and clenched his teeth around it until he felt the taste of blood in his mouth. Ramsay cursed and tried to pull his finger away. He did so, but the lion's fangs peeled some of his skin off. Jaime spat Ramsay's blood and flesh into his face, then punched him again, and again, and again.

By no means was it a fair fight. A man dressed in nothing but a shirt, no matter how young and two-handed, stood no chance against a man in full armour.

Jaime cared so little about it being a fair fight! Where had the fairness been when Ramsay tied Brienne to a bed and forced himself on her? Images of what had happened in that room flooded his mind, clouding the last shreds of his already gone judgement. _He touched her..._ Jaime growled, throwing his fist over and over and over. _He touched her against her will..._ And all of a sudden the left fist was not enough for a right-handed man. Instinctively, Jaime hit Ramsay with his right hand.

Bolton screamed in pain and wrestled to get himself out of the lion’s grip. Jaime hit him again, this time hard enough to snap his cheekbone. Ramsay struggled like a slaughtered pig, his despair and pain fuelling Jaime’s animalistic outburst. _Ramsay’s lips on Brienne..._ and Jaime had never been more grateful for his golden hand. _Brienne struggling... _and Jaime growled. _Bolton grinning at her pleas... _and Jaime brutally broke all of his teeth and the jaw along with them. _Ramsay's cock sliding inside her causing her pain... _Jaime roared with all the might of a lion. The mere thought of it made his heart break to pieces. _I love_ _her..._ The words rang desperately in his mind and bitter tears filled his eyes._ I love her... I love her... Gods help me, I love her... and he hurt her! _Over and over and over again Jaime planted his golden hand in Ramsay’s skull.

At first, there were screams. Then they stopped. He did not. For a long while.

“Ser Jaime… Ser…” Jaime vaguely heard her calling him, yet he could not snap out of his rage.

“Jaime... Jaime...” She begged and, in spite of the violence with which he was still hitting Ramsay, Brienne bravely placed her hands on the back of his head. “Jaime, please… Jaime…” She pleaded, her fingers warm on his neck. “He’s dead, Jaime… it's over... let go… let go…”

His name so softly on her lips made him stop and turn his head around. His broken heart was beating like a drum and he was short of breath. Without thinking, he captured her hand between his shoulder and his lips. Disregarding their gruesome circumstances, Jaime faithfully abided to the etiquette of their noble origins and planted a polite kiss on her finger, while courteously adding _"My Lady__" _to his greeting.

"What..." She whispered, voice trembling.

Jaime forced himself to his feet and looked at her, both their faces stained with tears. The shock in her eyes was hard to miss. She was shocked – yes. But not at the fact he had just killed a man in cold blood with his bare hands. She was shocked to see him there.

“What are you doing here?” She mouthed, blue eyes lost in his, and he was unsure whether he heard the words or merely imagined them.

Jaime looked down at his hands, flesh and gold alike. They were both covered in Ramsay Bolton’s blood and so was the plackart of his armour. He turned his head ever so slightly over the shoulder and threw a look at the corpse on the floor. In his savagery, Jaime had completely crushed Ramsay's skull and the insides of his head were pouring out. Unable to help himself, Jaime grinned and turned to look back at Brienne. Lifting his bloodied hands with a ‘what can I say’ gesture, he replied with all his Lannister arrogance.

“I dreamt of you...” He said. _And woke up screaming_, his mind added. As if on a cue, screams started outside.

_Fire! Fire! Fire!_ Echoed in the dark.

Jaime looked past Brienne, to where Bronn was standing with a key in one hand and the chains in the other. His friend nodded at him with newly found esteem and that refuelled Jaime's blood lust. The battle was not over.

“Go open the gate. I will take Brienne to safety and join you.”

“What is happening?” She asked unsure. 

“The end of House Bolton is happening, wench.” He replied with a mad smirked, while the sellsword turned on his heels and rushed to the door. “Remind Strongboar my orders - kill them all!” Jaime shouted a last command and Bronn laughed in reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: 
> 
> Remember this fic is show-canon only (with the ironic exception of the very premise, Jaime's dream). In the series, Bran fell from the Broken Tower, so we're flying that flag. For the purpose of this fic, the First Keep (the abandoned tower from where Bran fell in the books) is a well-maintained building, suitable for hosting the important guests of Winterfell. The First Keep is the nearest building to the Broken Tower, this being the reason why I gave Jaime a beautiful room in there, the very purpose being for him to see Ramsay through the window and realise where he kept Brienne. 
> 
> The reason why I opted for a parallel with Ramsay's canon faith is to underline certain differences between the personalities of Jaime and Jon. In their own ways, they were both right in stopping/going all the way in their revenge against Ramsay. I see each course of action as mirroring the specific traits of these men - both individual traits, and traits specific to the houses they are part of (taking care the whole pack gets its revenge vs. a Lannister pays his debts sort of thing). 
> 
> These being said... how did you like the chapter? Xx 


	6. Brothers in arms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SAME TRIGGERS APPLY AS IN THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER.  
(graphic depictions of violence + implied sexual assault)

It all happened in a heartbeat. The door was burst opened and Ramsay turned his head that way. One moment his hand was on her knee and the other he was tumbling on the floor, out of her sight.

Brienne lifted her head as much as her chained arms allowed her to and tried to understand the new turn of events. A Lannister knight, by the looks of his armour, stood tall above the vermin at his feet, making use of his leathered boots with no restraint, no reservation. Being with his back towards her, she could not see his face, yet her heart rose in her throat and skipped a beat. _Jaime... _her whole being yearned, but she dared not hope, for it could not be. It simply could not be!

The distinctive melody of a sword being drawn distracted her for a mere split of a second. She moved her eyes from the knight towards the man holding the sword. He looked ready to slay Ramsay. 

"You stay out of it!" The knight shouted and her whole world was turned around at the sound of his voice. Burning tears came rolling down her cheeks and were it not for the cloth in her mouth, she would have called out his name. _Jaime! Jaime! Jaime!_ How could it be?

She'd prayed to all the Gods - the Old and the New! She'd begged and begged and begged the nameless, the Mother, the Father, and the Warrior to send him to her! She'd summoned him with her mind day by day, night by night, heartbeat by heartbeat... _Jaime come for me! Jaime come for me... Jaime, please... I am running out of time... come for me... _And there he was! How could it be? It simply could not be!

It was all a faction of her imagination... but that was fine! After all, he had never truly left her side. She'd carried him with her, in her deepest thoughts, throughout her journey. Brienne let her head fall back on the hard mattress, closing her eyes and allowing her ears to enhance the sounds of pain echoing in the room. In her mind, Jaime, the man she had desperately fallen for in spite of common sense and decency, was killing her molester for her. In her mind, he was always there for her... for in her mind, he loved her just as she did him...

It all happened in a heartbeat. Someone pulled the cloth out of her mouth, forcing her back to reality, pulling her away from the fantasy she found comfort in. She gasped and, quite probably, screeched. Her sapphire eyes shone in disbelief. The sleazy sellsword keeping Jaime's company looked at her quite worried. But how could it be? It simply could not be!

His hands went to the chains holding her hostage. With no avail, he tried to use his sword to cut her loose. What in the name of Gods was happening? Her mind could not comprehend the reality around. Then Ramsay cursed. His pain seemed so real. _Jaime... Jaime..._ Her mind cried his name, but how could it be?

"The key..." She heard her own weak voice whispering, in spite of not realising she had allowed it to. "The door... on the door..." And the sellsword ran that way.

It all happened in a heartbeat. He unchained her and she was rubbing her wrists while trying to leap out of that damned bed. Her legs turned on her and she sank to her knees, like a heavy rock being thrown into a river. Her whole body hurt and in so many ways. She was weak, oh so weak. And thirsty. And dirty. And hungry. And when his hand touched her, the blood in her veins ran cold. She could not stand it, so she tugged away and pushed him with all she had.

"Easy now, m'Lady..." The sellsword said, his hands on her arm again, this time much gentler. She forced herself to accept his grip and so he helped her to her feet. "Are you alright to stand?"

_Of course, I am alright to stand! _She wanted to hiss at him, but her legs felt so unreliable. She did not reply, she simply took a couple of slow steps away from the bed, towards the mirage she could yet believe. _Jaime... _How could it be? _Oh, Jaime..._

His golden hand rose to the ceiling and came crashing like a bolt of lightning. Ramsay screamed in pain and she covered her mouth with both her hands. Jaime hit him again, this time hard enough to snap his prey's cheekbone. Brienne stood stunned, looking at how the man she had prayed to save her was unleashing the beast within to end the one who had hurt her. For there was no doubt Jaime was in for the kill! No doubt! And when he planted his golden hand right into Ramsay's skull, she did not even flinch. Without blinking, her blue eyes fixated on Ramsay's face, on the way it became unrecognisable as the most feared lion in the Seven Kingdoms feasted on it... or rather fisted on it.

It felt good... Oh, it felt so good to see Ramsay's blood pooling on the floor! She drew her strength from the sight of it. She straightened her back and she stood firmer on her own feet.

It all happened in a heartbeat, but she did not miss the moment... She saw it! She saw it and she would never forget it, she saw the life leaving his body. She saw Ramsay Bolton drawing his last breath. And she felt at peace.

Nothing happened in a heartbeat any longer. Time seemed to still all of a sudden and reality surfaced. It was fairly straightforward. Ramsay Bolton was death. Jaime Lannister was there. Jaime killed Ramsay... and he kept on killing him.

The scene in front of her eyes unfolded painfully slow. Jaime looked not as much angry as utterly devastated, consumed by it all. He did not stop hitting the corpse, for he could not stop. Jaime whimpered utterly unaware of doing it and Brienne felt shivered down her spine. 

"Ser Jaime... Ser..." She called him, but he gave no indication of having heard her. She could not see him like that a moment longer. No matter how lost in himself, Jaime would not hurt her. She walked to him and touched his back with both her hands. "Jaime... Jaime..." It was the first time she was saying his name bare of titles and courtesies out loud. It felt sweet, oh! so sweet, on her tongue so she said it again. "Jaime, please... Jaime..." She begged him, her hands moving up his back and onto his neck. Her warm fingers rested on the little bare skin he had exposed and he trembled under her touch. A reaction. He heard her. He felt her. "He's dead, Jaime..." His name warmed her body, soothing her pains. She wanted nothing more than to keep on saying his name, yet it felt wrong to abuse it. "... it's over... let go... let go..."

Her hand rested on his shoulder and he captured it with his lips, planting a soft kiss on her fingers. Her heart stopped when he greeted her with _"My Lady..."_ as if they had just met across the ballroom floor.

"What..." She whispered, voice trembling.

He forced himself to his feet and looked at her, both their faces stained with tears. Jaime Lannister! Jaime... _her Jaime..._ Jaime was there... she had wished him there and he had come. How could it be? It simply could not be.

"What are you doing here?" She mouthed, blue eyes lost in his. He looked down at his hands, flesh and gold alike. They were both covered in Ramsay Bolton's blood and so was much of his armour. He turned his head ever so slightly over the shoulder and threw a look at the corpse on the floor. She did the same. In his savagery, Jaime had completely crushed Ramsay's skull and the insides of his head were pouring out. He turned towards her with a mad grin on his face, before replying in all his Lannister arrogance.

"I dreamt of you..." And what did that even mean? Brienne frowned, wanting to ask just that - _What do you mean? What do you mean? What do you mean?_ \- but the silence of the night was pierced with desperate screams.

_Fire! Fire! Fire! _Echoed in the dark.

"Go open the gate. I will take Brienne to safety and join you." Jaime commanded his sellsword and she frowned.

"What is happening?" She asked unsure.

"The end of House Bolton is happening, wench." And what a delightful thought that was. Brienne nearly smiled. "Remind Strongboar my orders - kill them all!" Jaime shouted a last instruction and Bronn laughed already out of the room.

"What? Kill who? What is going on... tell me, please..." She wanted to cry, for nothing made much sense. 

"Worry not, we've got it all covered. Come on, Brienne, let me take you out of here." As ugly sobs threatened to overwhelm her, she could not protest. Jaime took her hand. A tender gesture. Loving even. Warm and reassuring, making her knees feel weak. With no other word, she followed him.

He took her out of that damned tower, keeping her near him, protecting her with his own body down a darkened path towards the back door of what looked like a Keep. She saw red flames taking claim of a tower at the opposite end of Winterfell. The castle seemed succumbed to general madness, as servents and guards ran all around in a frantic attempt to keep the fire localised.

Jaime dragged her up the stairs, a sense of urgency in his actions. Not until they were at the cover of his room, door locked, did he let go of her hand. Ramsay's blood now covered them both, sticky and thick as it dried. She was exhausted! 

"I need to leave!" It was the first thing he said to her while alone in his room and it felt like a slap over her face. He might have noticed the heartbreak in her eyes, for he hastily added. "I have 500 riders under my command and they are about to storm the castle. A chunk of the Lannister army in the actual North! And my men are about to take Winterfell under entirely false premises... because of lies I have told. The least I can do is show up for the battle..." He looked at her and swallowed hard. "Please, Brienne, please... just stay here! Please don't ask to join the fight! I have no armour for you and it is all so complicated... for me, please, just stay here. I would never demand this of you if it were not for good reasons."

She nodded. She did not want to join the battle. Her body was hurting in so many ways. Her pride mattered less than her life. She did not want to get herself killed because she was too weak to swing a sword properly. 

"Good wench!" Jaime grinned. "Just take the evening off... the chamber has a private bath with really hot water that I am sure you will enjoy. Throw that ugly rag you're wearing straight into the fire and get some fresh clothes from my chest. We should be close in size... just don't leave the chamber. I'll lock you in, anyway. Not that I do not take your word but..." And Winterfell echoed in horse hooves. The battle began. "I need to go! Stay safe, wench!"

And he was gone, not before taking the key from within and locking the door from without.

Brienne looked around sighing. For the second time in a week, a man locked her in a tower...

But this time it felt entirely different.

Taking Jaime's advice, Brienne took her dress off and threw it in the fire. She stood naked, one arm covered in blood and bruises all over her body, and watched it burn. Outside the window, the castle was also aflame. The sound of battle surrounded her, calming her, soothing her soul in a manner silence never did.

She did not move until the dress turned to ashes. When it did, she went to the nightstand on which Jaime kept a flask of water and drank it in one go, spilling some of it down her chin and onto her chest. She wiped her mouth with the back of her palm and then was when she saw it. Right in front of her, on the furs covering Jaime's bed, Oathkeeper shone in all its glory.

Brienne started panting, trying to prevent herself from breaking into tears. But then again, no one was there to see her cry. So she indulged and let go. 

Falling to the cold ground, she laid on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest. And she cried. She cried as she had never cried before, her mind flooded by the memories of her week as a hostage in the Broken Tower. Her body hurt and felt dirty and wrong! And her heart ached in her chest.

Just as the tears threatened to drown her, she thought of Sansa. The sweet and beautiful and frail daughter of Lady Catelyn. The little auburn-haired Lady, a mere child, had been in Ramsay's hell for nearly a year. And she survived! Brienne drew in a deep breath. Just as Sansa, she would survive too! They both were warriors in their own ways and that was war! Weak men knew not how to fight women except through their sex. But weak men never won in the face of strong women. She was a strong woman... she could not give in to desperation. She could not let Ramsay win even in death.

Brienne stilled her sobs and breathed deeply. When she was done crying, she forced herself to her feet and walked towards the bed. Grabbing Oathkeeper, she took it out of its sheath and lifted it to her lips, eagerly kissing the Valyrian blade. She put her precious sword back in its sheath and, without letting go of it, walked to the bath.

She bathed for a long hour, while men were dying outside. As her sword rested by the edge of the pool, she scrubbed herself clean in the sound of pain and cries. _Not so hard... you'll scrub the skin off._ Jaime told her at Harrenhal, on that very fateful day when he became another person in her eyes. Just like then, she listened to him and started tending to her skin more delicately. And, just like then, the same reply came to her mind:

"What are you doing here?" She let the words come to life again. Nothing from what he had said counted as a valid explanation as to why exactly was _a chunk of the Lannister army in the actual North..._ She wanted to know the truth about why he was there. She desperately needed to know what sort of political ploy got him to Winterfell. For until she did, her treacherous mindpromised to spin up stories in which _she_ was the reason. And that was as ridiculous as it was painful.

With a sigh, Brienne got out of the warm bath and walked back into the room, water dripping from her body, leaving a trail behind her. She went to Jaime Lannister's wooden chest and opened it. He told her she could wear his clothes and she yearned to do just that. Taking out a pair of breeches and a shirt, she lifted them to her face, inhaling deeply. The scent of him invaded her mind, bringing all her unrequited feelings to the surface...

She hugged his clothes to her chest and bit her lip. She felt so weak for doing it, ashamed for acting like a locked up maiden - which she no longer was - pining over the knight fighting battles for her. That was not her, not her at all... but she felt too exhausted to keep up the way she always did. She felt tired of being so manly all the time! And Gods was it so wrong? Was it so wrong of her to crave protection for once? For years she had done it for others! For years she had been the shield and sword protecting others! Was it so wrong? Burning tears fell down her cheeks and she covered her face with her hands, burying her wet eyes into his clothes. Was it wrong of her to have wished for him to save her? Was it wrong of her to act like a woman? Did someone looking like her and behaving like her have any right to indulge in her womanly feelings? Was she less strong for doing it? Gods she was exhausted! Exhausted!

She had been a week at war! She could take it no longer! She wanted to sleep! _Now! Now! NOW!_ Her mind screamed and her body responded at once. She dressed her dripping wet body in Jaime's clothes and crawled to bed. She let her head fall on his pillow, as she covered herself in furs. She smelled like him. The bed smelled like him. Jaime felt all around her, soothing her skin, her mind, her soul. Protecting her. Wrong or not, it felt divine! And she drifted to sleep within heartbeats. 

It was the thirst she had endured for far too long that forced her to wake in the dead of the night, after merely two hours of dreamless rest. But when her eyes opened, he was there...

Brienne bit her lips and stared at him in disbelief. Jaime Lannister was there, by her bedside, sitting on a wooden chair, with his armour still on, looking all muddy and covered in blood just as any soldier did after battle. Jaime Lannister was there, asleep. Deeply asleep. His head was tilted to a side, nearly resting on his own shoulder. His mouth was opened and he snored unflatteringly. Widow's Wail still in hand, the blood of Gods knew how many men drying upon its precious steel, while its sharp edge grazed the stone floor of the chamber. She felt her own bones hurting and her own muscles becoming stiff at the thought of how uncomfortable his position looked. Yet there he was, by her side...

Tears formed in her eyes again as she looked at him. He was there. Jaime was there! It felt surreal. A fragment of her imagination no doubt, for how could he be there? She wanted to reach out for him, wake him up and ask over and over again - _Why are you here? Why are you here!? Jaime, why are you here?_ It was as if the Gods had answered her prayers. For she prayed. She prayed as she had never prayed before. Day after day she prayed to all the Gods she knew, but especially to the Old ones. Whenever Bolton's men came to feed her the little food he spared on her, they unchained her from the bed and, at spearpoint as if she were a dangerous animal, they allowed her to walk around the room. And then she saw glimpses of it through the dirty and broken windows - the Godswood and its magic weirwood tree. And she prayed to Gods that were not hers to send him to her! She prayed to the nameless to make him turn his horse around, wherever he was, and ride her way... he had done it before, he could do it again, could he not? She was not stupid, nor naive, nor religious for that matter. She knew she prayed in vain, but she did it anyway for it was the only way in which she could cope with what was happening to her, with the fact that Podrick was most likely dead and Lady Sansa and her brother had not the numbers for the battle to come...

So she prayed... she prayed for him day by day and thought of him night by night. Whenever Ramsay came to torment her, she thought of Jaime. Just as he taught her a lifetime ago, she went away inside. _Close your eyes, pretend they're Renly... _She did just that, but she pretended it was him. Bolton may have had her body, but in her mind, she had never been with anyone but Jaime. Jaime... always, always, always Jaime. Now there he was by her bed! And how could it be real?

_I dreamt of you..._ whatever that even meant? It would be foolish to think of it as the truth. It would be foolish to think Jaime Lannister marched his knights north just because he worried for a woman – and not any woman, for _her_, the ugliest and most unworthy woman in the whole of Westeros. For her last shreds of sanity, she needed to know the truth! She needed to know the strategic and political reason behind his venture... he had saved her, of course he had! But he would have done the same for any woman in her situation. But... but... but...

She closed her eyes for she could no longer look at him without her heart betraying her mind. The images of Jaime killing Ramsay came to live behind her eyelids. He would have saved any woman tied to a bed, yes, absolutely... but not like that. Not like that! He could have simply driven his sword through the vermin and be done with it in less than a heartbeat. Yet the way in which Jaime went about it... the way in which he abandoned his senses, the way in which he turned into a ferocious lion... it made her dream that he took it personally, deeply, deeply personally. And Gods help her! She was naive! Insanely naive... and it was wrong of her to be that weak! but maybe, just maybe, he was there for her too, just a little bit.

Widow’s Wail slipped off his hand and fell to the floor with a loud noise. Brienne's eyes opened wide and she lifted herself from the pillow. Jaime was started too. He nearly fell off the chair trying to retrieve his sword and then stood up like a newborn foal on wobbly feet. He spun toward the door, ready to slay the air.

“What are you doing, Ser Jaime?” Brienne asked slightly bemused.

“Guarding you!” He replied shaking the sleep off his eyelids and straightening his posture, all while turning towards her again.

“Some guard you are, Ser! Sleeping on duty like that!” She laughed wholeheartedly and he frowned. He looked at her with his green eyes so utterly puzzled that her heart jumped into her throat. He looked at her as if he had never heard her laugh before, which was by all means the truth. Brienne bit her lips and forced that semblance of a smile off them. “You are lucky your prisoner does not feel like escaping right now.” She added hastily, trying to bicker her way into better-known waters. That was what they did, was it not? Word sparring was their normalcy and that territory felt safe enough.

“My prisoner?” Jaime asked, her words taking him by surprise. “You are not my prisoner, Lady Brienne!”

“Well, you said you’re guarding me.” It was her turn to be surprised.

“Guarding you - yes! To protect you from harm, you ungrateful wench! Not because you are my prisoner and this is some cell I'm having you locked it!” He hissed offended.

Her eyes widened at his words. How could it be? It simply could not be. “Why would you protect me?”

Jaime gaped his mouth to say something, then he looked at her and closed it back again. It was as if he did not, in fact, know the answer to her question... or perhaps he knew it all too well. Brienne's heart began pounding as she pulled the furs away, letting her feet off the bed. She was not about to allow him get away without an answer. _Why was he there? Why would he protect her? Why would he care? Why? _She needed to know. For her sanity she needed the truth. He swallowed hard, looking at her standing up. She took a step towards him and he took a step back. Their eyes locked and none dared to blink. _Gods, he does have astonishing eyes..._ She thought, her ocean blue gaze trying to swallow his forest green within her waves. They stared at each other stunned and the truth of what none of them dared to voice became transparent on their faces. And then he scoffed, waving his hand and sword dismissively. 

“Because you’ve turned into a bloody damsel and that’s what knights do for the likes of you!” Brienne held her breath. Was she surprised his go to reply was an insult? What had she expected, truly? For him not to belittle her? For him not to mock her? After all, she had been the first to suggest acting 'normal' was what she wanted. “You still think yourself a warrior when you've slept through a whole night of battle? Some warrior you are!” He imitated her in a harsh tone. “I would not want to have you on my side on the battlefield, you might just swoon!”

She closed the gap between them in two determined steps and pushed him with both her hands. “You're the one to talk, Kingslayer?" She hissed as he jerked away, flinching in pain. "What sort of knight leaves a Valyrian steel covered in blood and takes a nap? Your sword will lose its edge, just like your fighting skills did a long time ago.” Jaime growled at her a _'Careful, wench!' _but she hit him again. He let his sword fall to the ground and caught one of her hands mid-air. The other landed heavy on his shoulder and he hissed in pain. “You stink of sweat and blood and death! You repel me! Go take a bath! You’re a sorry sight for a damsel like me!”

Jaime looked her deeply in the eyes, tightening his grip on her wrist, and she knew he wanted to snarl something back. Instead, he quite visibly bit his tongue between his teeth and that drove Brienne mad. “Oh come on, you coward! I know you want to insult my looks! I know you want to say I am a sorry sight for a pretty knight like you. Come on, say it! You’ve said worse to me.”

He pulled her nearer, almost twisting her wrist. "Your damned eyes are too much in my face right now! I cannot insult you because of them. Close them alright and I'll tell you what an ugly cow you are!"

She freed her hand and pushed him away with a swift gesture. “Go bathe and go to bed, we'll talk in the morning."

“Sleep where?" He frowned.

Brienne looked at him mirroring his confusion. "The bed, where else?" Then she clenched her teeth, suddenly realising the real meaning of his question. "If it bothers you to share the bed with an ugly cow, feel free to sleep on the floor or back on your chair."

"Enough, Brienne!" He said resolutely. "It does not bother me! I asked because after what happened with Bolton, it felt wrong to presume you'd want to share your pillow with a man." But as soon as the words left his mouth, Jaime closed his eyes and grimaced. The fact that he cursed under his breath only made it worse. She gasped, shocked. His words hit her like a bucket of freezing water.

He had faked it! He had faked his insults and his temper! He had faked what she presumed to be their normalcy and that broke her heart! How dared he? Brienne clenched her teeth in anger. How dared he? _What happened with Bolton_, as he put it, was nothing but a battle injury! She had spent the evening making sense of it and convincing herself it was the truth! How dared he come and ruin it? It was war! It was the nature of war - she was captured and punished as enemies are punished. It was war! The ache in her body was no different than other times she had lost a fight! She would wear it as a battle scar and how dared he think otherwise? How dared Jaime Lannister think she was fragile? How dared he think she was broken? How dared he worry about her like she truly were a damsel? 

Jaime began panting before her eyes. "How dare I?" Brienne's heart skipped a beat. She had not said all of that out loud, had she? "No, I do not believe you're broken, or fragile, or a damned damsel." She had. "I have nothing but respect for what you went through and how you held up." He hissed and she felt like dying of shame. By no means had she wished to actually voice her thoughts. "When I was injured and the worst that could have ever happened to me actually happened, did you think of me as broken and fragile? Did you let me get consumed by it? Did you not worry whether I would overcome it or not? Because the way I remember it is that you did not let me die in peace! You stood by me and made sure I was alright! How dare I worry for you? How dare _you_ think I would not? For all the big attitude of being treated as a swordsman, you have no idea of how to act like one! We are brothers in arms, Brienne! I have to worry and take care of you when you take a hit, because if I do not, next time I take a hit, who will save me in turn? I would do the same for Bronn, I would have done it for any of my Brothers in the Kingsguard! I did not mean to offend your battle scars, wench! I simply have no idea how to approach this particular type of battle injury situation... I just thought you might not want to... but..." His words began failing him. "But if you have no issue with it, by all means, we'll share the bed. It would not be the first time we sleep beside each other."

She did not know what to say. She wanted to cry and wrap her arms around him. She was being unfair and she knew it. It was not him who thought all those things of her. She thought them. She was the one who saw herself as fragile and broken and a damsel in distress. And maybe she just wanted to indulge in it. Maybe she wanted him to see her as that too. But somehow it felt like a betrayal of everything she had stood for. Her pride did not allow her to indulge... but why? Why was it wrong to behave like a woman? Why was it wrong to admit she saw him as an anchor?

She drew in a deep breath and nodded. "Alright. I believe you! Don't ever call me a damsel again." She self sabotaged for her mind decided it was wrong to act like a woman. Her heart and soul be damned. Her mind reigned supreme.

"You have my word," Jaime vowed bowing his head.

"Did you... did you take any hit tonight?" She asked unsure of what to tell him to avoid the awkwardness of silence. _Brothers in arms_ was what he said they were, wasn't it?

"Nothing that I would die from... my shoulder took a blow and feels a bit wrong and tender. Thank you for hitting it a couple more times, for double measure." He added ironically.

"You will live. Do you need any help?"

She saw him considering it for a moment before nodding. "Can you help me take my armour off?"

Brienne nodded and started doing just that. _Brothers in arms_... her mind felt proud, yet her heart ached at the same time. Was that all they were? "Here... you can bathe now." Unbidden, her thoughts went to Harrenhal for the second time that night. _Brothers in arms... _Had he called her a sister, she would have blushed at the sinful thought of it. All of a sudden she felt tired again. What she felt, what he did, how she should behave, why he was there, how she wanted to behave, what he said... it was all too much! Too much!

"Thank you," Jaime said politely when he was relieved of the heavy battle wear. "Try to get some more sleep, you look tired... I also am, so I will join you soon." He walked towards the private bath, but turned around in the doorframe separating the two parts of the beautiful chamber. He smiled a devilish smile. "Just so you know, I am actually the new Lord of Winterfell, wench."

"You are not." She rolled her eyes, suppressing a smile.

"I am indeed! I took the castle from its previous Lord and now the Lannister golden lion on red banners are hanging everywhere! Winterfell is mine!"

"Well, if this is so, in the light of my oaths and loyalty, I have to let you know we are enemies, _Lord_ Jaime."

"Nothing new under the sun, Lady Brienne. Feel free to put the swords between us in bed." And she could swear he winked at her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that we've welcomed Brienne into the fold, it is only polite to give her a voice as well. From now on the PoVs will most likely alternate.
> 
> How did you enjoy this chapter? Xx


	7. Warrior first. Woman second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Jaime's defence, this is his side of THAT* conversation.
> 
> *The one in which he hardcore "brotherzoned" a very vulnerable Brienne. Having the experience of rewriting this (which I utterly loved), I would really really really recommend for you to re-read Brienne's PoV first, to see just how deeply different they see the same dialogue. Not the whole chapter, just from where both her and Jaime are awake. From about here...
> 
> >>> Widow’s Wail slipped off his hand and fell to the floor with a loud noise. Brienne's eyes opened wide and she lifted herself from the pillow. Jaime was started too. He nearly fell off the chair trying to retrieve his sword and then stood up like a newborn foal on wobbly feet. He spun toward the door, ready to slay the air.
> 
> “What are you doing, Ser Jaime?” Brienne asked slightly bemused.
> 
> “Guarding you!” <<<
> 
> Enjoy. (sort of.) Xx

“Why would you protect me?”

The question took him by surprised. Jaime gaped his mouth to say something, then looked at her and closed it back again. Brienne of Tarth was unlike any other woman. The Maiden had turned her face away the day she was born and never sought to protect her through the journey of life. The Warrior, on the other hand, had always strengthened her sword arm... The Brienne he knew, the Brienne he respected… _loved_… that Brienne saw herself as a warrior first and as a woman second.

How could he answer her question? How could he admit that seeing her tied to a bed and knowing what had happened there made him desperate to protect her as a man protected a frail woman? How could he be honest when the truth would be an insult in her eyes?

Seeing as he was at a loss for words, Brienne pulled the furs uncovering her broad figure and let her feet off the bed. When she stood up, he swallowed hard at the sight of her wearing his clothes. All blood in his body seemed to travel to his trousers, taking the Lannister shift covering her small breasts as an invitation. How exactly had _Brienne the Beauty_ become a woman first and a warrior second in his eyes? Was it wrong? Would she hate him if he confessed?

When she took a step towards him, he backed away rather fearful the post battle lust would take command of his judgement. Not fast enough, for their eyes locked and none could blink any longer. _Gods, she does have astonishing eyes..._ He thought as her ocean blue gaze swallowed his forest green within her waves. For a moment, his heart stopped, shocked at what he saw – or thought he saw – in her eyes. Bewilderment at him being there, at him offering to… Did she want it? His protection? Did she want to be cared for as women were? Did she want to have a man worried about her welfare? How could it be? It simply could not…

They stared at each other stunned and the truth of what none of them dared to voice became transparent on their faces. He needed to know. For his sanity, he needed the truth. So he scoffed, waving his hand and sword around. 

“Because you’ve turned into a bloody damsel and that’s what knights do for the likes of you!” He said as truthful to their normal bickering style as he could. What he wished to say was that he could be that to her – Gods, he could! He could be her knight! But what he explicitly did not wish was to see her insulted by the mere insinuation. Saying it lightly gave her to option to take it as a mockery, to roll her eyes and grunt at him. “You still think yourself a warrior…” _It is more than fine if you do not want to be that now, I can be a warrior for both of us… but Gods he could not say that. It sounds offensive. Joke. Say something funny now. _“…when you’ve slept through a while night of battle? Some warrior you are!” He imitated her in a harsh tone. “I would not want to have you on my side on the battlefield, you might just swoon!” _Too far! Stop!_

She closed the gap between them in two determined steps and pushed him with both her hands. “You're the one to talk, Kingslayer?” She hissed as he jerked away, flinching from the pain that pierced through his injured shoulder. _Grand!_ He thought cursing himself. She was insulted.

“What sort of knight leaves a Valyrian steel covered in blood and takes a nap?” Or maybe she was not. Maybe she understood the message all too well and hated it. “Your sword will lose its edge, just like your fighting skills did a long time ago.” Oh, she had definitely understood what he implied! And that was her telling him she was a fighter in her own right who needed not an old knight to take care of her. Now he was insulted!

“Careful, wench!” Jaime growled at her, but she hit him again. It hurt so much he dropped his sword. His hand flung up just in time to catch hers mid-air and protect his shoulder from another hit. In vain – for he caught the wrong hand. The other landed heavy on his injured shoulder and he hissed in pain.

“You stink of sweat and blood and death! You repel me! Go take a bath! You’re a sorry sight for a damsel like me!”

Jaime looked her deeply in the eyes, tightening his grip on her wrist. Gods, he missed the time when he was her prisoner and he had good reasons to fight her! For he wanted nothing more than get his sword out and… _pick his sword up!!! _from the floor, where he dropped it and… Jaime had to bite his tongue hard between his teeth to clear the post battle lust from his head.

“Oh come on, you coward! I know you want to insult my looks!” Jaime frowned. “I know you want to say I am a sorry sight for a pretty knight like you. Come on, say it! You’ve said worse to me.”

Should he pull her near his hardening cock to see just how much he wanted to insult her looks? He nearly did, before suddenly alarmed again by the thought of what Brienne had been through in Bolton’s grip. His heart sank deep and all blood left his manhood. Of course she did not want to be treated like a woman! Not now! Not when her sex had been used as punishment for losing a fight – which she surely had, since she ended up a prisoner. Jaime settled for twisting her wrist and snarling. “Your damned eyes are too much in my face right now! I cannot insult you because of them. Close them alright and I'll tell you what an ugly cow you are!” What he meant to say was that she could always feel safe with him.

Brienne freed her hand and pushed him away with a swift gesture. “Go bathe and go to bed, we'll talk in the morning."

“Sleep where?" Jaime frowned, still tormented by the thought of the grave disrespectful mistake he nearly committed. Brienne looked at him mirroring his confusion.

“The bed, where else? If it bothers you to share the bed with an ugly cow, feel free to sleep on the floor or back on your chair.”

For goodness sake! He no longer understood anything! “Enough, Brienne!” He snapped at her, driven out of his mind by everything that had happened that night. “It does not bother me! I asked because after what happened with Bolton, it felt wrong to presume you'd want to share your pillow with a man.” But as soon as the words left his mouth, Jaime closed his eyes and grimaced. _Fucking hells! _So much for his effort of keeping his thoughts under wrap. Maybe he should have just been honest from the beginning.

“How dare you?” Brienne clenched her teeth in anger. “_What happened with Bolton_, as you put it, is nothing but a battle injury! We’re at war! It’s the nature of war! I was captured and punished as enemies are punished!” She growled. “We’re at war! The pain in my body holds nothing different from what I felt other times I lost a fight! I will wear it as a battle scare and don’t you ever dare think otherwise!” She was so enraged she did not even stop to breathe. “How dare you imply I am fragile? How dare you think I am broken? How dare you worry as if I were a real damsel?”

His heart was throbbing in his chest. “How dare I?” He did not know how to put the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions into words. “No!” Was the first thing that needed to be put out in the open. “I do not believe you're broken, or fragile, or a damned damsel! I have nothing but respect for what you went through and how you held up…” The words came out harsher than he wanted them to. But he had to make amends to his former statement. He had to try his best to be what he needed her to be! Did he wish she allowed him to see her as a woman? Did he want to be her knight and protect her as such? Yes, he did want all that, for he had seen her hurt not as a warrior, but as a woman. But he also understood she did not to deal with her trauma like that. Fine! Warrior first. Woman second.

“When I was injured and the worst that could have ever happened to me actually happened, did you think of me as broken and fragile? Did you let me get consumed by it? Did you not worry whether I would overcome it or not? Because the way I remember it is that you did not let me die in peace! You stood by me and made sure I was alright! How dare I worry for you? How dare _you_ think I would not? For all the big attitude of being treated as a swordsman, you have no idea of how to act like one! We are brothers in arms, Brienne!” It was not a lie. It was neither the truth. But she was in no place to hear the truth and she had made it very clear. So he pushed forward. “I have to worry and take care of you when you take a hit, because if I do not, next time I take a hit, who will save me in turn? I would do the same for Bronn, I would have done it for any of my Brothers in the Kingsguard! I did not mean to offend your battle scars, wench! I simply have no idea how to approach this particular type of battle injury situation... I just thought you might not want to... but...” As they were a far cry from what he wanted to say, words began to fail him. He started to mumble so he had to wrap up. “But if you have no issue with it, by all means, we'll share the bed. It would not be the first time we sleep beside each other.”

She drew in a deep breath and nodded. “Alright… I believe you! Don't ever call me a damsel again.”

“You have my word.” Jaime vowed bowing his head. What was the point of having accepted his feelings for this woman, when she wanted not to be seen as such? It served him quite well for abandoning Cersei. He did not regret it, for his journey north saved Brienne’s life, or in the least shortened her ordeal. But her rejection hurt infinitely more than he could have ever anticipated. 

“Did you...” She ventured unsure of what to say to clear the air between them. “Did you take any hit tonight?”

He could barely repress a sad smile. “Nothing that I would die from... my shoulder took a blow and feels a bit wrong and tender. Thank you for hitting it a couple more times, for double measure.” He added ironically.

“You will live.” She scoffed softly. “Do you need any help?”

He thought of his cock for a moment, but the sadness in his heart assured him the treacherous organ was too depressed to misbehave. He nodded. “Can you help me take my armour off?”

Brienne nodded and started doing just that. _Brothers in arms_... what a freaking sham.

“Here... you can bathe now.”

“Thank you.” Jaime said politely. He took his heavy battle wear in one hand and dragged it to a corner, frankly dropping it on the floor. “Try to get some more sleep, you look tired... I also am, so I will join you soon.” He walked towards the private bath, but something felt wrong. As if their relationship had been tainted in a way. He had to say something to assure them both they would be fine.

Jaime turned around in the doorframe separating the two parts of the beautiful chamber. He forced a devilish smile on his lips. “Just so you know, I am actually the new Lord of Winterfell, wench.” It was not technically true, but a bait nonetheless.

“You are not.” Brienne rolled her eyes and he could swear she had just suppressed a smile.

“I am indeed! I took the castle from its previous Lord and now the Lannister golden lion on red banners are hanging everywhere! Winterfell is mine!” He’ll have to explain that to Cersei as well. Somehow. He’ll have to make it look like it had been a sound political and military idea. Or, considering the mess he was in, he could just take the black and go to the Wall… If only he did not hate the North so much!

“Well, if this is so, in the light of my oaths and loyalty, I have to let you know we are enemies, _Lord_ Jaime.” Oh, Gods, why would she call him that? If only he could walk back to her and pull her in his arms, embrace her to his chest and keep her there for a little while… or a little longer.

For so long he’d been so blind. How had he not seen it? It was right there in front of him! How had he not realised his own feelings? How when not a single day has passed since she left King’s Landing without him thinking of her? Had he been true to himself, an honest man for once, maybe he could have stopped her at Riverrun, maybe she would have never fallen in Ramsay’s grip. He loved her. He knew it now and it was too late. He knew it so desperately it hurt. Mere hours before he was still so vehemently denying it! Denying it to the world – well Bronn – and denying it to himself. But now… oh! Now it was an entirely different world than it had been mere hours before. The veil had lifted and everything was distressingly clear!

He loved her and loving her was the only thing he could think of!

The thought would simply not leave his head. The ache would simply not leave his heart. It was cruel… a trick of the mind – having ignored the issue for so long, he could not escape it anymore! It was there! A bitter punishment if there was any. It was there and it came with the suffocating regret of countless ‘what if-s’. _Lord Jaime_… yet not _her Lord_. But what if he had told her the truth about the bear dream… what if he had kissed her that day they spied over Sansa… what if he had left the capital with her… what if he had stopped her at Riverrun… what if… 

“Nothing new under the sun, Lady Brienne.” But what if, for once, something were new under the damned sun! “Feel free to put the swords between us in bed.” He said as a joke. _Let them be one, if we cannot._ He winked at her, for that is what she thought he was – a man who took nothing seriously. And he had to live up to that reputation.

He stepped out of the bedchamber and took the rest of his clothes off, before walking to the edge of the bathing pool. Stepping inside, he wasted no time in letting his body be claimed by the hot springs. His skin tingled, his muscles relaxed, his bruised shoulder found comfort. It felt liberating… yet not liberating enough.

Jaime took in a deep breath and fully submersed in the water. Then he screamed! He screamed as loud and hopeless as his lungs allowed him to. The breath of air he took now left his chest, mouth filling with water. Bubbles and waves raced towards the surface muffling any sound. A man with his sins had plenty of great regrets, yet who could have ever guessed his greatest regret still would turn out to be what he had not done.

As his treacherous heart protested loudly from the lack of air, he obliged and rose to cough the water out and breathe instead. He took his time washing his body and counting his regrets. But after a long hour he did eventually leave the bath and walked back to her room… his room… _Theirs_?

The water was dripping from his body, leaving a trail behind him. He aimed to go straight to his wooden chest, but his eyes drifted to the bed. He had to see her! He had to ensure she was still there. Safe...

She was, sleeping soundly with the back towards him. Jaime smiled in relief for a brief second, then his heart skipped a beat. On the empty side of the bed were nicely laid a clean pair of sleeping trousers and a shirt. He turned his head to his armour and it was shining red and gold, no dirt, no blood to dull its beauty. His sword rested over the back of a chair, clean and lustred. A tear fell down his cheek and all his efforts at banishing an unwelcome thought were in vain. It forcefully pierced through his better judgement and made itself at home in Jaime’s tormented soul – _only a lady wife would have done that for him._ And why was he doing that to himself? Half a day before he could not even admit she mattered a copper’s worth to him and now he thought of a cloak around her shoulders?

The truth was… it had been a hell of a day! He was drained. His body was exhausted and his spirit even worse. The fatigue was making him emotional and he was not one to like that. He needed sleep.

Getting dressed in the clothes she had prepared for him, Jaime was ready to call it quits for the night. Then Widow’s Wail caught his eye, lonely over the chair. He toured the room with a look, searching for Oathkeeper. It was nowhere to be seen. The longer he looked, the surer he became of it. Jaime left the side of the bed and began to actively search the precious blade. It had to be there! He had glimpsed it when he returned from battle. She had left it on the table! It couldn't have just disappeared! Maybe she had placed it somewhere safe… Rushing to his wooden chest, he opened it with hope and high expectations. But Oathkeeper was not there. He ran to the wardrobe by the wall and found it empty. He knelt by the bed and looked underneath. With a heavy sigh, he stood up. Where was his sword?... _hers_.

Unbidden, his eyes fell on her sleeping form. Then rested on the furs covering the bed. She had not, had she? For the love of Gods… she couldn’t have! _Please… please… tell me you have not…_

With a trembling hand, Jaime reached for the covers. His fingers wrapped on the furs and he drew in a deep breath, steadying his heart. As slowly as his terrified heart demanded, Jaime bared his side of the bed.

Oathkeeper.

Jaime closed his eyes and bit his bottom lip to soften the blow. She had.

Brienne had put her sword between them...

He had made his bed, better gather the courage to lay in it.

Yet, he could not resign himself. Jaime sighed, eyes still gazing the sword dividing the bed in two. He dragged his feet to the chair and took Widow’s Wail. Then he walked back and rested his sword on top of hers… _Let them be one, if we cannot._

Then he lay on his cold side, pulling the furs over him. He turned his back to her back and closed his eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did this go just about as well as you expected?
> 
> Please let me know what you think. Xx


	8. The Starks are never wrong

Jaime knocked on the door of his own room and waited patiently for her to invite him in. His mind struggled to find an oasis of clarity in the midsts of the dense fog that had settled in his skull. It had been a long and challenging morning already, as so much had to be done in the aftermath of a rushed conquest. In spite of not being able to hear his own thoughts, Bronn's words were looping loudly in his ears: _Will you be able to stomach your decision tomorrow, once the bloodthirst is out of your system? If you do this... there is no turning back - the restoration of the Starks will be your doing and yours alone! _A paralysing thought. A frightful reality. How was he going to justify his actions to the Crown? To Cersei? The news of his northern expedition must have reached the capital by now. How mad was she? - for she had all the right to be. He should have written to her... he should have explained why he turned north... Jaime scoffed at the thought and sighed hopelessly. Explain what? Explain how exactly?

The Commander of the Westerlands' forces took the very cream of the Lannister cavalry north of the Neck, into the actual North and all the way to a Winterfell he brought to submission for no other reason than... a woman.

Even the mere uttering of his deeds in silent words was like a dozen punches in the gut. The feeling of sickness rose all the way up his stomach, into his chest and he had to groan and clench his teeth to keep himself from throwing up.

Jaime Lannister had once again outdone himself! An entire life of nothing but exceedingly impulsive decisions and yet he always found a way to outdo the last! And the worst part of it all was that the woman he had done it for would not even appreciate it.

For how could she? How could a duty-bound and selfless person like Brienne of Tarth appreciate such a duty-breaking and selfish act done in her name? The answer was transparent even in the thick fog. She could not. But it also mattered not. He was not her! He was not a man of honour, he was not some self-sacrificing, virtuous knight. He was a Lannister and, his soft reasons be damned, he did nothing but what a true Lannister would do - abuse of power to achieve a personal gain. And she should bloody open the door for him. He had no time to waste!

Jaime knocked again and, just as the first time, to no avail. The third time he knocked he did so rather more forcefully. A moment later he thought he might have heard Brienne make a faint moan, but he could not be sure. The silence of the room threw him in an immediate state of agitation. The fog lifted from his mind making way to a raging thunderstorm. What if something had happened to her? What if someone had found her? Hurt her again? Deep within, he was well aware that such a scenario could simply not be true. Winterfell was in Lannister hands. The First Keep was guarded by no less than nine of his men, three posted at each entrance. No one knew she was there and no one would have dared enter the Commander's room! And yet, in spite of all sound judgement, his chest continued tightening in irrational fear and his breathing hastened, becoming irregular.

“Brienne?” Jaime wondered on a sharp tone, opening the door at once in spite of having no word from her. Propriety be damned! He had to make sure she was well.

When his eyes fell on the bed, his heart steadied at once. In spite of it being two hours past noon, she was still soundly asleep, lying on her back across the mattress, limbs as spread out as the ones of a starfish. Exhaling loudly in relief, all his muscles relaxed overwhelmed by a wave of sudden calmness. With small steps to steady his unreliable legs, he walked to the table and placed a steaming cup of tea on it. He felt ridiculous and he probably was. A pathetic old man, so in love he cared not if he had to set the world aflame to keep the object of his affection safe. If he were to be true to himself, he had to accept it would take a long while for him to feel rational and at ease when she was not in his sight. Brienne may not want to be guarded and protected by a man, but he was going to do it nonetheless. Discreetly – of course – but guard her all the same! He had to, for his own sanity. It's who he was. The man who did stupid things for love!

Yet, he also knew who she was. So for the sake of her sanity, he had another plan entirely. If a warrior was what Brienne wanted to be acknowledged as, then he would ensure her name became recognised as such. He would share stories of their time together in the Riverlands, he would spread words of her deeds and praise her talents. And the best part of it all was that he had a great audience at hand. The most competent and renowned knights of the Westerlands were right there, brought by him for no other reason than Brienne of Tarth! So now they'd better accept her in their midst as a brother in arms of equal rights!

Before even knowing how he got there, Jaime was by the bed, leaning over with his hand reaching for the strand of hair rebelling over her forehead. The fact that she was in bed at such a late hour was nothing but a testament to the ordeal she had been put through. And yet, the fact that a warrior as vigilant as her was in bed – at such a late hour – was nothing but proof she felt safe enough to sleep and regain her strengths. He gazed over her with longing eyes and wished he could slip in bed beside her to wrap his arms around her strong body. He had never hugged her and the mere thought made his core ache. He yearned to hug her more than he yearned to kiss her or make her his. _One day, I will hug you wench..._ he vowed to himself as his fingers brushed over her hair. She looked peaceful – she truly did – and that warmed him up inside. She deserved to feel peaceful and safe and lov... 

Brienne opened her blue eyes and stared right up at him. Jaime was left short of breath, hand paralysed in her hair. For the first time in years – decades – he felt his neck reddening up his cheeks and to his ears. The God of sleep, if there was any, saved him the embarrassment of Brienne noticing his unmanly blush. She closed her eyes to yawn loudly, giving him the chance to take a step back and get in a more dignified position.

“Why are you lurking?” She asked on a hoarse sleep ridden voice, eyes still shut.

“Truth be told, my…” He swallowed the word. _Not a Lady_, he reminded himself. _Warrior first. Woman second._ A mantra he hated, but was determined to see followed through – for her. He cleared his voice and changed his attitude. “I was merely trying to retrieve my sword. Which begs the question – is Valyrian steel more comfortable to sleep on than this piss-poor sack of hay they pass as a mattress in the North?”

Brienne frowned, suddenly arching her back. Her right hand slipped beneath the covers and he could picture her reaching for something underneath herself. “Oh…” She gasped, bringing Widow’s Wail in their sights. “What’s this doing here?”

“Are you fucking serious?” Jaime hissed, her eyes widening in shock at him swearing so nonchalantly. Anger heated his blood as the memory of seeing the blade between them became suddenly fresh in his chest. Running him through that blade would have hurt less than what she did. Jaime reached and snatched his sword quite violently from her hand. “You were the one to put the bloody sword in bed. What do you think it's doing there?”

“Not _that_ sword.” Brienne corrected him, hand reaching beneath herself again. “… but _this_ one!” Taking Oathkeeper out, she rested it on her chest and yawned again. “You do seem upset about it, _Lord_ Lannister.” She whispered hoarsely looking at him, her wonderful eyes not yet able to shake the sleep off their eyelashes. Jaime did not reply, all of a sudden weakened by that mesmerising blue drawing him in its charms. He could not stay angry at her – not when she had her eyes right in his face! Not when she looked so endearingly innocent in her sleepy state... so... beautiful? “You made a joke…” Brienne continued on the defensive, taking his silence as confirmation of upset. “I simply delivered on that joke.”

Jaime nearly burst into laughter and was barely able to turn it into a dismissing scoff. “Wench, one needs a sense of humour to deliver on a joke, a quality you hardly possess.”

“As boring as I am ugly?” Brienne asked arching an eyebrow and pushing herself upwards, back resting on the headboard. She took Oathkeeper with great care and placed it by her hip, on the furs. Jaime narrowed his eyes and glared at her, infuriated yet again.

“Goodness sake, Brienne! Can’t a man say anything anymore without you getting all offended by it?” He snarled. “You should know by now that such an unworthy remark would never actually cross my mind and I feel thoroughly insulted that you…”

“That I recall our past conversations so well?” She wondered looking almost amused. Jaime's mind froze at once, while one of his eyebrows arched in utter confusion. “Those are words that crossed your mind and left your lip. If I remember correctly, they were said on our first day together on the road…” Brienne looked at him, lips curving up in a provocative near smirk. “I believe the years might be affecting your memory, my Lord Lannister of Winterfell… or have you lost your conquest already?”

“Give me some credit, wench. I am good enough a Commander to hold a castle for more than mere hours.” That first day after leaving Robb Stark's camp in the dead of the night surfaced from the depths of his mind. His obnoxious past self grinned maliciously at him. _Have you known many men? I suppose not. Women? Horses? _He'd been so full of shit – figuratively, and often even literally. A deep sense of shame washed over him and all he could think of was how to attack forward. Sometimes, the best defence was the offence.

“On that same note...” He snarled harshly, clenching his hand on Widow Wail's hilt. “I would advise you to refrain from provoking me to anger.” For some reason, he felt the need of letting her know he too remembered that conversation. _Y__ou will not provoke me to anger. _She had hissed at him. _I already have!_ Came his reply. _Look at you! You're ready to chop my head off. _Now he was the one ready to chop his own head off. But instead of doing that – or better yet apologise – it was still her he chose to attack. “I am a malicious man and I love doing things out of pure spite! Do not provoke me by insulting my military competence... that, of course, unless you wish to spend the winter trapped in here with me and my men. I will have you know that I am more than prepared to resist a lengthy siege. How long would you say the army of Stark's bastard could come knocking on _my_ door knee-deep in snow?” 

“Long enough!” Brienne replied unwilling to let herself intimidated. “His army has actually seen snow before, whereas yours has probably only read of it. Does it ever snow at Casterly Rock?” Despite sensing the scorn in her voice, her words did strike a sensitive chord. Why was he lashing out on her when it was his own impertinence he was angry at? 

“I do not remember…” Jaime replied sincerely, sighing all of a sudden. “I only ever spent a winter there. I think I was a boy of six – or maybe seven – when it started and it lasted for only two years. Or were they three? I…” Her features softened at his unexpected confession, bewilderment filling her big blue eyes in such a way he felt taken back to Harrenhal. His heart skipped a beat. Just as then, his damned soul yearned for this annoyingly honourable woman to understand he was not a monster. Taking a step closer to the bed yet again, he pointed with his golden hand towards the edge of the mattress. “Can I?” Brienne nodded. He sat down on the furs, by her hip, with the upper body only partly turned towards her. Widow's Wail rested on his thighs, fingers wrapped around the sheath. “I am an old man of forty and two and I have no memory of whether snow ever falls at the castle whose Lord I supposedly am...” His eyes sought hers for comfort, which he found at once, making him puff through the nose. “How about on your isle, sapphire wench? Does it snow on Tarth?”

She shook her head softly. “I was born in the last year of that same winter you spent at Casterly Rock... My father once told me Mother claimed I brought the spring. Mayhaps my face scared the very winter away.” Instinctively, he growled at her – a warning she should not say such words. It made her gasp rather startled. “Anyway... I...” She tried to clear her voice. “I lived through two more winters. Too mild, too short for the snow to reach Tarth...”

Jaime nodded. “Snow never reached King’s Landing either..”

“It will this winter…” Brienne bit her lower lip as if trying to decide whether to voice her thoughts or not. “Ser Jaime, there are things you should know…” She looked persuasively into his eyes.

“Things?” It was all he could say, his heart aching at how good she was at turning a tender moment into something to do with work and duty.

“There are real reasons why you simply cannot hold Winterfell for too long… Alas, not at all! Why are you here, really? If not to provide military relief for Bolton – which you obviously did not do…” Her words dried in her throat and she swallowed hard. Brienne let her head fall down, chin buried in her neck, as she began breathing in and out. Jaime turned his face away as well, unable to see her like that. He knew all too well that the previous night, and maybe those before it, were replying in her mind. None could speak a while. None could look at the other.

“Thank you, Ser Jaime, for...” Brienne whispered, barely louder than a heartbeat.

“Do not thank me please...” Came his chocked reply. “Just... just don't...” He had to squeeze his eyes shut to chase away the images of her tied to a bed in a torn out dress.

“Jaime...” His bare name painful as a plea. He looked at her, but she was still keeping her head down. “Could you… could you, please, promise me something – from brother to brother?” 

He cringed at her words, every fibre in his body tensing up in revolt at the falsehood they held. “Anything.” And he meant it.

“Do not let anyone know what Ramsay did to me…”

And those words alone would have been enough to make Jaime kill the bastard and take Winterfell all over again. “You have my word!” Jaime vowed as fiercely as a roar. Caring not a damn for it, he let his sword fall off his lap, while he climbed the bed with a leg bent underneath, leaving one on the floor for support. His hand flung to her chin, forcing it up and keeping it there. “No one will ever know, Brienne of Tarth. I will never say a word of it to anyone. Bronn neither. And all those who knew of it are already dead – I made sure. Your honour is unbesmirched and it will always be! It's only a battle you lost, not the war!” A painful smile graced her lips as a solitary tear rolled down her left cheek. He caught it with his thumb and, in spite of all that had been said the previous night, he had to try once again. 

Jaime let go of her chin and took in a big breath, reaching for her hand. “Brienne... I know you do not want to talk about what happened, but if you need to, I...” The way she turned her head away and sought to release her hand from his grip gave him pause. Yet his fingers clenched around hers, squeezing them so tight he surely hurt her. “What I wish to say is that I am here for you, wench, were you to need a confidant... or anything, really. Do not shy from asking for my help! Do not take shame in it. For the love of Gods, Brienne! Think of everything we have been through when I lost my hand. Think of how you cared for me when that happened. You have freely done what a Septa or healer would have been paid in heavy bags of gold for. You fed me, you washed my disgusting body and nursed my stump. I cried in your arms and screamed in pain, as nightmares and fevers consumed me. You did not let that happen! You kept me alive... I am _here_ because of you, Brienne!” And Gods he did not mean 'here' as in 'still in this life', but 'here' as in 'Winterfell'. He hoped with all his heart she would understand as much, yet deep down he knew she was too thick-headed for that. Much clearer he could not make his intentions, not without risking pushing her away with unwanted insistences. “I am here for anything you may need. Absolutely anything at all. Just as then – you and I, no one else, no questions asked, no words spoken of it all, just the devotion of one knight helping another heal.” And whether she wanted to see it as he did – as an act of love – or whether she wanted to see it merely as a favour returned, it was entirely up to her. Letting go of her hand, he straightened his back and sought her eyes. In vain.

“I...” The tears in her voice were hard to miss, so she had to cough twice to regain her composure. “I will let you know...” And why was he so painfully sure she would not? It may have been her inability to look at him, or the tension so dense they could cut it with their swords.

Yet, as they were on it, Jaime decided to push forward. There was still another issue he wanted to address, even with the risk of offending her further. “Brienne… one more thing.” She sighed, exasperated, but forced herself to face him. Those big sad eyes nearly choked the words in his throat. He needed a moment to gather his thoughts, so he bent down to pick his sword before standing up and walking away from her.

It was his turn to lack the courage to speak to her face. “There might be chances for your… ahm, battle injuries… to have some rather more permanent consequences... if he finished inside y... ah...” He bit his lip, feeling like suffocating – partly from the awkwardness of the situation, but mainly from nausea. The thought of another man planting his seeds in the womb of the woman Jaime saw as his, had had the effect of turning him into an abhorrent arsehole for as long as he could remember. Despite knowing Cersei was only spending sparse nights with her husband out fo duty, she could always count on her brother's raging jealousy and temper tantrums the following morning. That and a couple cups of Moon Tea – for double measure. But, with Brienne, he had to suppress his foul instincts. Firstly, for he had no rights on her! But mainly, for it had not been pleasure – not even duty – that put her into the horrible position of deciding whether she wanted to drink that tea or not. 

Leaving Widow’s Wail on the table, Jaime picked up the cup of tea he had brought for her. It was no longer steaming, but it felt warm enough. He turned around and looked at her. “I…” But no other words wanted to follow as his eyes registered the state of distress Brienne was in. It dawned on him that she had not even considered the mere possibility of falling heavy with child. She looked whiter than a spirit, all colour having left her anywise pale face. Her chest was panting visibly and she was too scared to even blink. 

“Brienne, I brought Moon Tea for you. Do you want to take it?” Bursting into tears, she began nodding frantically. He rushed to the bed, while she got herself on the knees, crawling down the mattress to reach the cup as fast as possible. “Here...” Jaime whispered, leaning over the bed. She grabbed the cup in both palms, no words leaving her dry throat, and took it to her lips. 

Then stopped all of a sudden, short from actually tasting the liquid. She took the cup down from her mouth and settled it into only one hand, using the other to wipe away the tears. “Is… is it safe?” She asked, eyes vibrant in newly found strength. Brienne was a bottomless well of that! No matter what life threw at her, she had it within to keep on going. 

“Safe?” Jaime repeated unsure of what his fighting lady meant.

“It could be poisoned. The Maester might have been unpleased with the outcome of battle and…”

Jaime smiled and shook his head. She was always so diligent. “There is no Maester anymore. He was caught with a knife in hand and killed.”

“Why?” Brienne asked, eyes widening.

“My orders – any man with a semblance of a weapon in hand should be killed. My men saw the knife, they followed through.”

“Did your men also see the Citadel chains around the Maester’s neck?” She frowned, entirely displeased with what she heard.

“Most likely.” Jaime nodded as if it mattered not. “Orders are orders. Maester or no Maester, I spared no man with a weapon in hand. I had no reason to.” _They hurt you. _He wanted to add, but he refrained.

Brienne shook her head, throwing a frown of disapproval his way. Jaime only lifted his shoulders and gestured with his one good hand as if to say 'whatever'. “Alright, your battle, your rules. But who made this tea, if the Maester is dead? Some woman whose husband your men killed?”

“I made it myself, wench! Take the word of an oathbreaker as a vow that the tea was not poisoned in any way.”

Brienne looked sceptical in the cup, then back at him. “You made it? Will it work?” Jaime's jaw dropped and he looked all flustered by her latest insult. “No!” She shook her head immediately. “Will it work as it... does Moon Tea in general work?” 

He rolled his eyes murmuring a _'smooth save'_ through clenched teeth. “How long… for how long did he…?”

“A week.” She said eyes falling in the tea.

“It will work without a doubt.” Jaime assured her on a categorical tone.

Brienne nodded and took the cup to her lips once more, tasting it with a small sip. “How come you know how to brew Moon Tea?” When he did not reply for several long seconds, she added. “I do not want to know, do I?”

“No... you probably don't...”

She nodded again, sipping from the tea this time more vigorously. “So...” Brienne did seem to want to venture on that particular path of moving sands. Jaime did nothing but bite his lower lip, bracing for whatever she had to throw his way. “You and _her Grace_ settled for three then…?”

“Three is what we were given…” Did Jaime want to talk with Brienne about siring his bastards? No, he did not. Was he going to, if that was what she wanted? Yes, most certainly. If they were to be together – in the future, whenever she was ready – he could not deny her the truth. “I only brew her Moon Tea after my sister laid with the King. Neither I, nor Cersei, would have ever gone against our own cubs… but I never allowed her to carry a child of her husband's. She was not particularly keen on that anyway. Yet had she fallen pregnant ten times – with me – we would have had ten bastards in line to the Throne.” _And there is only one left... _his mind cared to remind him.

“Jaime... you should never admit these things out loud, particularly to an enemy.”

He smiled sadly, looking at her with such love in his eyes even she had to notice. “There is no other person in the Seven Kingdoms I trust more than you…” And she surely noticed, for she tore her eyes from him and buried her face in the cup – drinking up, rather vested in the action of it.

The longer he spent with her, the surer Jaime was that Brienne understood quite clearly his feelings for her. She knew just as well as he now did that love was what the grey lion felt for her. She simply did not reciprocate. Could he blame her for not wanting to be associated with a man like him? _There are no men like me... Only me._ Could he blame her for not wanting to be associated with _him_? He corrected himself.

While she drank her tea, Jaime returned to his sword. He belted Widow’s Wail at his hip, keeping with the back at her. “I had a room prepared for you in the Great Keep.” He declared, twirling on his heels and looking at her just in time to catch her surprised expression. Was she disappointed? Had she expected them to share a room? Maybe she did reciprocate his love... just a bit. But she rushed to wipe the hope right out his heart.

“You had a separate room prepared for me? Do your men know I am here? What did you tell them?” She had merely been worried about what people would think of her presence in Winterfell.

“I did not tell anyone it was you, per se. I told my men a messenger had been sent by the Starks to negotiate a parley with Bolton. I told them the said messenger was hosted in the First Keep as a guest – same as myself. But now the First Keep is the Commander's quarters and why do I really need to explain everything to you? You will have your own chamber in the Great Keep. Pardon me for not thinking you'd want to keep on sharing a room when you put your damned sword between us in bed!”

“Damn you with your sword! You're absurd!” Brienne growled, scrambling to her feet and moving threateningly closer to where he stood by the foot of the bed.

“I am absurd?” Jaime growled back, straightening his back to appear roughly as tall as her. “Using the blade I gave you as a shield against me? Is that the level of trust we are at, wench? After everything I've done for you?” 

She froze short from reaching him, her whole belligerent attitude deflating at his words. “Jaime...” A painful whisper. Within a heartbeat she looked so much smaller than she actually was. She looked hurt and vulnerable, every bit the weak woman she did not want to be.

It broke him. He did not want her to appear like that in his eyes, for he knew she would have hated him – and herself – for it. He should have shut his mouth and let her hit him instead. Anything, but this. “Forgive me, Brienne... I did exaggerate.” 

“No...” She shook her head. “You are right. Putting Oathkeeper in bed was offensive...” 

“Brienne, I do not mind you staying in my room... ” _Please, stay... just stay..._

“No, you are right. It would be highly inappropriate, Ser Jaime. Your men would not understand that our relationship is just that of any other two brothers in...”

“Brienne!” Jaime growled her name. He was physically not capable to hear her repeating those words a single time more! “The only reason why I said that we are...”

A hard knock on the door startled them both. Jaime clenched his teeth in frustration, but she looked at him with worry in her eyes. Understanding her thoughts all too well, Jaime pointed with his head towards the bathing room and she nodded. Swiftly, Brienne climbed on the bed to grab her sword and arrange the furs as closely to a hastily made bed as possible. Then she rushed towards the bath. 

“Come in.” Jaime said resolutely, once he ensured she was out of sight.

“Commander.” Strongboar’s adjutant bowed his head stepping inside the room and standing by the door. “Ser Lyle has completed the loss count, ours and the enemy’s, and expects a decision regarding the bodies. Ser Bronn has accommodated the prisoners and Ser Jon Bettley has finished turning the guard’s house into a pavilion for the wounded. The camp has been dismantled from outside the western wall and is currently reset in the main courtyard. The gates have all been sealed and we are prepared to hold the walls in case of siege, Ser.”

“Good. The scouts?”

“Have not returned yet, Commander.”

“Alright. Tell Crakehall I will be down in a minute and we will assemble the council.”

“There is one more thing, Commander.” He looked at the young man and nodded to give him permission to speak. “A raven arrived.”

Jaime's heart started beating thrice as hard. “King’s Landing?” Had the King finally caught up on his expedition and issued a sentence? Or worse! The raven brought news of his sister's trial. _Cersei, my love..._ His mind echoed in fear. _Please be safe..._

“White raven, my Lord, from the Citadel.”

“White raven? Looks like the Starks are never wrong… sooner or later, winter is coming.” Jaime whispered looking around with a brow arched at the irony. How in the Seven Hells had he ended up trapped in Winterfell at the beginning of winter? Without even realising, his head turned towards the bathroom.

A woman. That is how.

Jaime dismissed the younger man by simply pointing towards the door and within seconds he was alone. “You can come out now, wench.”

“Ser Jaime…” Brienne said walking towards him. “Listen, what I meant to say earlier about winter is that you need to surrender Winterfell to the Starks. The sooner the better! I heard the squire's news... Winter is here! And it is coming for us all without exception. Jon Snow is the only one who can lead the war against it.”

“I do not understand what you mumble, wench.” He frowned.

“I cannot even say the words out loud without them sounding ridiculous! Jon Snow and the leader of the wildlings will explain everything to you in a way your blood will run cold… The lie you said to your men about me, don’t let it be a lie! I can be a messenger! I can secure a parley between you and Jon Snow.” The warrior had resurfaced and her eyes were lit with the promise of battle - or rather the promise of _no_ battle, just what she had secured at Riverrun. “Ser Jaime, you have the opportunity to end the war between the Houses of Stark and Lannister. You can end this damned civil war just in time for the Seven Kingdoms to face winter together, as we should! I know you are a good man. I know you do not want to betray your family, but this goes beyond Houses and loyalties. This is about survival.”

“What is, Brienne?”

“If I utter the words you will think me mad. Let me secure you a meeting with Jon Snow and you will hear the truth.”

“I cannot let you leave the castle alone.” Jaime shook his head.

“I will not betray you, Jaime...” Brienne said in a low voice, trying hard not to sound offended by his words.

“That is as sure as the sun rising in the East, wench. It's not betrayal I am afraid of.”

“I hope you are not implying what I think you are! I lost a battle, not the war - _brother__! _Is that not what you said?” Jaime let his head down. He was going to lose his bloody mind if she left the castle's safe haven. He could not allow it! Yet the longer she spoke, the clearer it became he would simply have to. “Did you bluff? Do you think my recent failure means I should lay down my sword and take knitting by the fire? Why? Because I am a woman? Whereas you can still lead a southern army in an expedition north, despite being a one-handed man past his prime?”

He clenched his teeth, trying hard to realise what hurt more – her bitter words or the fear of losing her again. “I will have to discuss it in a war council.” Brienne nodded. “Speaking of, I am expected.” She nodded again. “I will send Bronn with food for you and then I will have him accommodate you in the new room.” Yet another nod. He could not think of anything else to say, thus he turned away and walked to the door.

“Jaime...” He stopped at the sound of her voice, but did not turn to look at her. “I have faith you will choose peace. There is no other person in the Seven Kingdoms I trust more than you...” 

When had Brienne of Tarth become the cause of all his ache? Stupid, stupid wench! He should have let the Boltons have her the first time they had the chance. He would still be a two-handed Kingsguard of notorious reputation, at home, fucking his sister. Not trapped in the cold North begging a woman who did not want him to stay with him! “I said I will discuss it in a war council.” He growled, getting out the room and slamming the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pam pam pam... looks like a certain brother in arms is slipping right through Jaime's fingers.
> 
> What do you think of the recent developments? Xx


	9. Two halves of a whole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brienne PoV in which she tries to make sense of the new coordinates of the world around her.  
Bronn is there with some rather interesting advice. Good? Bad? Debatable. (It's Bronn) Xx

“Jaime…” Brienne whispered taking a step towards him. Despite stopping at the sound of her voice, he did not turn around to look at her. “I have faith you will choose peace…” And it was nothing but the truth. If anyone could bring the war of the five – by now gone – kings to its end, that man was Jaime Lannister. After all, it had been his indiscretions and crime against Bran Stark that started the war in the first place. Her heart skipped a beat just thinking those thoughts. Yet long passed were the days when she blamed him – hated him – for his sins. Now she no longer had it in her. She had forgiven him so deeply and completely that most of the time she conveniently forgot what had lied at the root of their first encounter. “There is no other person in the Seven Kingdoms I trust more than you…” She repeated his words wholeheartedly. Lady Catelyn would have been very disappointed to learn of Brienne’s devotion to the enemy who had ended her family… but such was the nature of things, no point in denying her feelings for him.

“I said I will discuss it in a war council.” Jaime growled, leaving the room with such a loud slamming of the door that she was startled.

Brienne sighed and walked backwards until she felt the bed’s framework with her calves. She let herself down, not on the mattress, but on the floor, keeping her eyes fixated on the door. Bringing her knees to her chest, she rested her chin on them.

Jaime was upset. She knew him well enough to realise her words had offended him – hurt him even. Ever since he had unexpectedly reappeared in her life, saving it, he did nothing but strive to attend to her needs… and she did nothing but take his every word, every gesture the wrong way. She did it instinctively, but somehow – at some deep level – she did it also on purpose, as if hurting him soothed her in turn. It was nothing like her to behave in such a manner, yet something drove her to do it.

_Why - why in the Gods' names?_ Brienne asked herself in spite of knowing the answer. The past week – yes - but that was a given. The truth ran much deeper… so much deeper than her latest - and greatest - misfortune.

The truth of why she behaved like that laid in that eternal question of what the freakish child of Lord Selwyn Tarth was supposed to be – besides a curse, for that was a given. The freakish child that was not fit to be a woman. The freakish child that was not fit to be a man. All her life she had been mocked and she had suffered for it! _You cannot be a knight; can’t you see you are a woman? You cannot be a Lady; can’t you see you are a man?_ And why - why? - could she not be both? Why was it so wrong to desire to be treated as both? She could be both! She could be a knight! She could be a Lady! Why could no one see it?

And now... now with what had happened... oh, why? Why was it so wrong to admit to her need to be taken care of after the ordeal she had been through? Why was it so wrong to want to fight side by side with the others _in spite_ of the ordeal she had been through? Why could she not be soft and strong at the same time? Why was she always forced to choose a fraction of herself? Why was she never allowed to embrace both, despite always being punished for both?

It was not Jaime she was furious at, but herself.

Jaime’s only fault was to be there to take the blow for her feeling weak, for her feeling needy and not being able to express it out of fear of being ridiculed. _I am here for you, were you to need a confidant._ And she wished she could confide in him! Oh, Gods – more than anything in the world she wished she could tell _him_ what weighed on her soul, on her heart. More than anything she wished she could tell him she needed the protection of the man she loved, at least for the time being, until she licked her wounds and grew stronger out of them. More than anything she wanted to admit that she wanted to heal as a woman, for she had been attacked as such! But how could she tell him that? _There is no other person I trust more than you…_ they had both confessed. And while that held true in the greater scheme of things - such as the future of the Realm and matters of war and peace - it fell short when it came to private matters. How could she ask for his help when she could not trust he would not hurt her?... or rather - when she could not trust herself not to get hurt by him. For she needed so much more than what he could offer… she needed so much more than camaraderie… so much more than friendship… and he had made it painfully clear he could not provide her with that more. The best help she could offer herself was to refuse his help. The safest thing for her already shattered woman’s heart was to push Jaime Lannister away.

Closing her eyes, Brienne bit her lips hard and refused to shed even a single tear. He meant well. He meant so well! But she could not see past the fog clouding her head. Any other man offering what Jaime was offering, she would have taken it gladly. But not him. Not now! Not after what she had been through! Her heart, her mind, her soul could not take his friendship or vows of brotherhood. 

And that was why, regardless of his decision in what the parley was concerned, Brienne was determined to leave Winterfell. Jaime had told her she was not a prisoner. If that stood true, then he had to allow her to return to her own camp. Honour compelled her to fight for Sansa’s kin - her own feelings be damned. If Jaime refused to make peace, they would meet across the battlefield as they had always seemed to be destined to.

Taking in a deep breath, she made her peace with the decision she had taken. For the time being, she was going to cause him no trouble while he decided on the course of action with his war council. For the time being, she would focus on calming her nerves and clearing her mind. For the time being, she sat on her bottom, on the floor, and waited.

Three quarters of the hour later, if not less, a knock on the door startled her to her feet. Brienne made no move, unsure of how to react. If it was a mere squire or steward, he would leave upon realising no reply came from the Commander’s chamber. If it was Jaime or his sellsword, they would insist in their attempt to get a response. And a second knock landed indeed.

“It’s Bronn. Le’me in.” Brienne rushed to the door and opened it for Jaime’s cutthroat. The man entered and dumped with no warning a metal bowl in her hands. She frowned deeply checking its content. “Some food, not the best, until dinner is ready. And I am to take you – discretely, I am told – to your new chamber.” Brienne nodded reluctantly, closing the door with one hand.

She had no idea how to approach the man and he seemed to share her dilemma. Not only were they worlds apart in terms of creeds and life understandings – which in itself made any attempt at conversation difficult – but the memory of the previous night was hanging like a dark cloud over their heads. A heavy silence descended between them and Brienne had to avert her eyes. Knowing he knew of her darkest hours was outright mortifying. And humiliating.

“Listen…” Bronn said eventually. “You fine?” Her eyes widened at his words.

_You fine? _Such a dubious and simplistic way to ask about a deeply intricate matter. Yet so genuine it totally warmed her heart and calmed her worries. Jaime was right. Bronn would never betray her secret. In his way - low born and deceptive - the man seemed to have a code of his own. 

She nodded, slightly bowing her head to him. “Quite fine. Thank you… for your help, Ser.”

“Nay bother.” Bronn said hastily and a crooked smile appeared on his lips. “I am really up for anything that leaves the Lannister fuckers’ even more in debt to me. If they keep up the way they did these past five years, by the end of winter they’ll owe me the entire Westerlands, with Casterly Rock and all the gold they shit.”

Brienne lifted her brows and pressed her lips together, unable to hold back a judgemental pout. “Indeed…” She agreed in what she hoped to be a polite tone. “I see why an expedition in the North might come across as a fairly extreme request. Why are you all here anyway?” A small window of opportunity presented itself and she hurried to seize it in the hope that Ser Bronn of the Blackwater would be more sincere in his response than Ser Jaime Lannister.

“He's not told you, has he?” Brienne did not reply, so the cutthroat snarled rolling his eyes. “Of course he's not. Lass, I have a piece of advice for you – from one sellsword to another.”

“Not a sellsword.” Brienne hissed offended, prompting the sleazy man with pitch-black eyes to laugh at her expense.

“Just because your price is so much lower than mine, some mere meat and mead and useless shelter, it does not make you any less of a sellsword – it just makes you a stupid one. Also stupid is the fact that you cannot draw a line and leave whenever you want…”

“And what sort of fighting advice would a _smart_ sellsword like you have to offer to a rule-obeying fool like me?” She said walking to the table and dropping the plate on it. In spite of her rebelling stomach, she had no appetite for the foully looking bean stew.

“Oh, it’s not advice concerning our craft. I do not care to give you sword swinging tips. Each to their own skills... It’s about that twat’ we both know – the one whose pants you’d fancy off.”

Brienne gulped turning on the spot to glare at him. “Wha’? You deny it?” Bronn laughed shaking his head. Yet she said nothing, rendered unable to do much more than breathing heavily. “Yeah, I thought you wouldn’t deny it… that’d be a lie and… can you even lie?” She clenched her teeth, while he licked his own to wipe them clean, before smirking amused. “Lannister’s rich ass is so used to having everything falling into his opened mouth, that he only ever acts if threatened. And when threatened… pff, he acts like no other! If I were you, I’d give him a good run for his money. Fucker's brought about five hundred knights with him – have your pick from the lot and see how he feels about it.”

“Excuse me, Ser?” Brienne hissed outraged. “I do not understand what you have the audacity of implying!”

“Oh, but you understand all too well. I know your man’s a fucking coward, don’t tell me you’re one too!” The sellsword provoked her.

“Your impertinence bothers me! Ser Jaime and I are merely brothers in arms.” Bronn laughed so loudly, Brienne could swear the windows of the room shook. “Does it amuse you, _Ser_?” Maybe she had been too quick in believing a mercenary could have any code at all.

“Aye, it does! It’s either that you also like fucking your own kin, or that you’re thicker than he is. Which one is it?”

Brienne shook her head and straightened her back. “You, Ser, have no idea how to talk to a noble Lady.”

“You’re a warrior, not a lady!” The sellsword declared so resolutely she was taken aback. “You take offence in what I say? Sincerely is how I talk to my… how was it now? _…brothers in arms._ How d’you talk to yours? Double meaning words and edgy looks?”

Brienne felt paralysed. In a strange way, it was not what he said that impacted greatly on her, but rather the manner in which he said it. This man looked at her and, in spite of knowing the real reason for her presence in Winterfell, he saw her exactly as she pretended to want to be seen – a warrior who suffered a battle injury like any other. _You fine? _He had asked and she had said yes. And that had been it on the subject. No double meaning words, no edgy looks - just it! Bronn had no care to put gloves on when interacting with her and that bothered Brienne more than it should have. It bothered her for it was the solid proof of how insincere she was being with herself and her needs.

“Brothers in arms…” The cutthroat snarled again, distracting her thoughts. “Which of you said that idiocy?”

“That would be him.” Brienne could but whisper.

Bronn tilted his head and frowned so deeply she could swear it was audible. “Of course he fuckin’ did. You know wha’? Forget the fucker! You can do better than an arse with no balls. As I said, there’s five hundred knights out there… have your pick!”

Brienne opened her mouth to reply something, but then she closed it back again, biting her lower lip and slowly chewing on it.

In light of everything, the idea did not seem so outrageous to her anymore. She was no longer a maiden. She was getting old. Why bother to be cautious still? Maybe it was time for her to approach men with more confidence. She had nothing to lose and everything to gain. Bronn's ways had made her all too aware that she did not want to spend her entire life from camp to camp among soldiers who treated her as nothing but a man like them. The thought made her heart ache and she felt so very painfully that she had abandoned her duty to her father for far too long. She was the heiress of a noble House. If the world had a future after winter, she wanted her House to have a place in it! She had spent so many years blaming the world for refusing to treat her as both a warrior and a woman, when the truth was that she had never put her foot down as both. Maybe if she really pushed her will into it - maybe if she stopped demanding not to be called a Lady in fear of being asked to remove the sword from her hip - maybe then she would have a real chance at convincing the world to accept her as she was!

Foully as he put it, Bronn of the Blackwater was not wrong. Who could appreciate the true value of a skilled fighter better than an experienced knight? Who could appreciate the promise of a ruling lordship better than a second son – which most of those filling the ranks of a cavalry were? For those who understood matters of war and politics, looks counted for nought. It was the perpetuation of her House that mattered – just as she had always been told! But she had to fall into the claws of Ramsay Bolton to be forced into the realisation.

Turning around to lift the plate up, as her appetite seemed to have solidified all of a sudden, Brienne replied rather confidently to the sellsword. “Maybe I will have my pick.” And if Jaime were to agree to make peace with Jon Snow and later fight along his side in the war against the dead, then she might just have the perfect opportunity to do that: have her pick. Find a man in the armies of the realms who would accept to wed her, not in a dress, but with Oathkeeper at the belt of her tunic; not out of love, but out of respect; not for herself, but for Tarth. And for her father, as he deserved so much more than a freakish child.

Dropping the subject as abruptly as he had initiated it, Bronn waited for her to finish eating. Then they both made their way to her new chamber in the Great Keep. Before long, she was once again alone.

The room Jaime had accommodated her in was much bigger than his. The bed had a canopy, the private bath was larger and there were three separate hearths. Fire danced in all of them. On the freshly changed bed, she found several changes of clothes – all fit for a man of the sword and dotting neutral colours void of any house affiliation. Right beside the clothes was laid a maille. Brienne smiled touching the battle undergarment with both her palms. Of course he knew she had been stripped of her armour... and, of course, he would not let her feel unprotected. It was foolishly heart-warming to see that Jaime had found the time to think of everything she might have needed - wanted even.

Brienne sighed and, in spite of fighting it to the best of her abilities, a string of desperate thoughts pierced her mind – why? Why could Jaime not be the one for her? Why could he not be her pick?... for she would pick only him, if she had the choice. Why did he have to offer his unconditional help and support, but only in friendship and brotherhood? Why was she cursed to never know what it meant to be loved and love in return?

As the tears streamed down her face, Brienne took off Jaime’s clothes and folded them with care. No more oaths taken for others. No more promises made in their names. If she was lucky enough to survive the war to come, she would for once opt for living her own life. Her own oaths. Her own promises of future. Taking in a deep breath, she walked to the bath and submersed herself in the burning streams that heated up the daunting Winterfell. And time stood still as she cleansed her body and mind.

By the time she left the bath and dressed in fresh clothes, the sun began to set on the castle's walls. And another knock disturbed her silence.

Brienne walked to open the door to find a young steward looking at her with utter puzzlement in his hazle eye. “My… my Lady?” He mumbled as if unsure of why it was she who opened the door. “Ahm… Lord Lannister asked your husband to join him…”

“Were those Lord Lannister’s exact words?” Brienne frowned, struggling not to roll her eyes.

“No, my Lady.” The steward shook his head. “He sent me to this room to fetch Jon Snow’s messenger and take him to join Lord Lannister and his war council members for a drink before supper.”

“It's not a ‘him’, but a ‘her’. I am Jon Snow’s messenger.” Brienne hissed rather annoyed by the young man’s words. Foot down. She thought to herself. She would never again accept to be treated the way Bronn had. But being taken for a meek woman at her husband's disposal would simply not do either.

It had to be both! It simply had to be both! Woman and warrior - two halves of a whole.

“Wait for me to put my maille on and belt my sword. Then I will gladly join Lord Lannister and his war council.” She closed the door leaving the steward outside and walked to the bed, a stern smile on her lips. The council was her chance - her first chance - to present herself as whole. And she would make those men see it! Embrace it! All of them! Even _him_...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cannot wait to hear how you found this chapter. Xx


	10. The Commander's band of brothers and his sword

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since I have not seen you, but I hope this chapter was worth the wait. There's something rather interesting shaping up. 👀👀👀

Brienne slipped the maille over a white chemise and reached for the sword lying on the bed. Her fingers lingered for several long heartbeats on the lion adorning the hilt. _It is yours. _The words he had whispered so softly echoed in her mind. Now, like then, they sounded like a blessing. Oathkeeper had grown to be her most treasured possession, part of her very identity, and she could no longer imagine herself without it. When Bolton’s men had snatched it from her hands the whole world turned bleak around her. The hopelessness and helplessness engulfing her soul in those moments being only matched by what she had felt when her brother drown before her eyes and Renly was murdered on her watch. A cruel finality she had not seen coming, a twist of fate not of her making, yet personal enough to have her feeling guilty and unworthy of walking the earth...

Breathing in and out slowly, to chase away the clouds threatening to rain over her newly embraced confidence, Brienne lifted the sword and belted it at her hip. _It will always be yours_. Now, like then, his words were an oath. His sword was now hers because she had become his. It mattered so little that she had never sworn herself to him, for deep down, this was the only truth: she was Jaime Lannister’s sword, sent by him on a quest to restore his very honour and good conscience. What had started as a promise to Lady Catelyn Stark was now a tale vouching for the Kingslayer’s worthiness. Once in King’s Landing with the Starks dead at the Twins, he no longer had to do any of it – take the Stark girls, or rather merely Sansa, safely where? What would have been the point of everything when their family was no longer? And yet Jaime did send her to find a way – any way at all – to keep their vows to a dead mother.

Her feelings for him mattered so little; his feelings for her likewise. They need not put a name on what they meant for one another, for their bond transcended love and friendship alike. His _Oathkeeper_ was hers and she was his _oath-keeper_. And she would remain so for as long as it took her to restore his good name. Two enemy knights across the battlefield of a wretched war caught in a story of valour and trust. It was rather beautiful, even without it being a love story… and maybe if she stopped trying to make sense of her emotions and put her foot forward instead, she would be half way to his war council, ready to convince him to make peace and get closer to his redemption.

Brienne trailed with small steps towards the looking glass and took in her image to judge whether she looked convincing enough. To her surprise, she found both a warrior and a woman staring back at her. The long brown boots over the dark trousers a size too tight made the copper maille look like a lavish tunic. The chain hood hanging over her back gave the impression of a well-cut collar complimenting the apparel… and that jewel of a sword around her waist and hips made her feel like she could almost come across as a beauty and a knight. She had done nothing but bathe and dress in clothes that were by all standards male and somehow she saw a woman in the mirror. She saw her because, for once, she allowed herself to. Brienne’s full lips curved up and she swallowed the sensation of tearing up. Her reflection was promising. She could do quite nicely with all those men.

Turning on her heels, she was ready to leave, but something caused her stop. She bit her lower lip as a wave of heat rushed through her body making her unsure of whether she should give in to the new impulse. Was it not a bit too much all of a sudden? Her treacherous mind threatened to undermine her élan as it usually did. _A bit too much…_ the sad echo rang in her skull prompting her head to fall down in self-doubt.

As her eyes were caught by the lion on her sword, Brienne took in a deep breath strengthening her will. She did not have to explain herself to anyone, not even to the voices in her head. And so her fingers lifted to her still damp hair. She brushed her locks sideways, allowing rebel strands to cover part of her forehead and right temple. Soon after, the other hand came to aid the first and Brienne started to squeeze her hair within her fists over and over again. When she let go, she turned around to check in the mirror whether the waves she used to have when her cut was longer promised to return. To her delight, the promise was there in her untamed fresh look, though far of reach for her locks were still too short. Yet, they gave her a much youthful appearance and the air of renewed hope. Nodding to herself in the mirror, she felt ready to fight for peace.

This time when she turned around, Brienne did leave the room and followed the steward down the narrow corridors to where Jaime’s council was meeting. The young man knocked on a door at a lower level of the Great Keep, before opening it for her. She walked in, but he did not follow, settling for merely closing the door behind her.

Jaime hurried to his feet with such rapidity that Brienne felt like getting dizzy in his stead. “My…” The words dried in his throat as his eyes widened taking in her new appearance. In a painfully slow and involuntary motion, Jaime sucked in his lower lip and she saw his apple moving downwards as he swallowed. Her heart skipped a beat and then cruelly decided to pomp all her blood into her cheeks. “My lady…” He managed to finish in a strangled voice. “Please… come and join us.”

The room was rather large and seemed to have been destined for family reading. Most of the walls were covered in books, except the one on which furious flames danced within a stone built hearth. A low table was set not far in front of the fire and four armchairs covered in flowing furs surrounded it. Jaime’s seat was by the hearth, at the left end of the table and half way facing the door. A bald man was looking at her from the place mirroring Jaime’s on the right side, while the other two seats were with the back towards the way she came from. She needed several more steps in their direction before realising Bronn lavished on the furs beside the bald man. The other armchair – the one closest to Jaime – seemed to have been destined for her.

“You have met Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, my Lady.” Jaime said politely as she stopped not far beside him. Brienne nodded in response and the cutthroat winked at her while murmuring a _‘nice hair m’lady’_ prompting her cheeks to burn deeper. With no care of hiding his reaction, Jaime glared at the sellsword who just lifted his goblet of wine in his master’s direction. “And this is Ser Jon Bettley, who fortunately drank less than Ser Bronn tonight.”

“My lady,” the man mouthed tilting his head respectfully and Brienne reciprocated with a courtesy smile. Jon Bettley seemed to be Jaime’s senior by some good years and what he lacked in hair and beard he compensated in the warmth of his hazel eyes.

“Ser Jon is in fact in charge of coordinating the Lannister foot soldiers.” Jaime formally introduced the man. “For years, he has been a loyal bannerman of my father’s, earning my family’s utmost trust. The thing is that, besides being a great military strategist, Jon is the calmest man one could ever meet. Reason why I wanted him with me at the Twins in case the encounter with Lord Frey threatened to turn – well – red weddingish.” Brienne swallowed hard and looked at Jaime with the corner of her eye, but refrained from commenting anything on the matter. For the split of a heartbeat, he clenched his teeth realising his mistake at mentioning the butchering of the Starks in her presence. Gesturing with his good hand, he hurried to introduce her to avert from the topic. “Ser Jon, this is Lady Brienne of Tarth, one of the…”

The door opened with a loud bang, claiming everyone’s attention. Brienne turned her head around to look at the man who so gracelessly entered the room. He was slightly taller than she was and broad in shoulders – a truly towering figure with dark brown hair waving down below his shoulders. Freshly clean shaved and with sharp features, he looked her up and down before locking his burning black eyes into hers. Then he smiled widely approaching with heavy steps. Brienne raised her eyebrows unsure of what to make of the man’s reaction. No one ever did just happen to smile at her. 

“Lyle!” Jaime exclaimed and Brienne looked at him breaking the eye contact with the newly come. “Right on time! Lady Brienne of Tarth – the messenger of the Starks – has just graced us with her presence. I was about to explain Jon how Lady Brienne is one of the best swordfighters I had the pleasure of going against.”

“Is that so, Commander?” Lyle inquired stopping by the armchairs and leaning with his elbow on the one Brienne had assumed to be meant for her.

Jaime nodded with half a smile, before smirking with all his Lannister might. “I will go as far as saying that the Lady _nearly_ defeated me in single combat while I still had two hands.”

It may have been the arrogance in his voice, it may have been the stubbornness of her personality, but regardless of the motive, Brienne felt her blood heating up at his words. Deep down, she knew he merely meant to compliment her skills in front of his men, but picking that old bone as example was the wrong way to go about it. They had been through it countless times and now Jaime unwittingly used the other men’s presence to his advantage. Unfortunately for him, she was not willing to swallow her opinion just because they were not alone.

“Excuse me, Ser!” Brienne said as politely as she could while still keeping her tone harsh. “Have I _nearly_ defeated you?”

Jaime arched his eyebrow at her, as if unsure why she did not just take the compliment with a grateful attitude. “My Lady Brienne, I hope we are not about to debate the subject again!”

“We were not about to do it, Ser, but then you brought it up.” Her words prompted Lyle and Bronn to laugh.

“Well, my Lady, maybe we should agree it was a tie, should we not?”

“It was not a tie, Ser Jaime.” Brienne clenched her teeth, now sure that both his arrogance and her stubbornness were the cause of her insistences on the matter. “I was quite obviously winning.”

Jaime’s eyes sought hers and the blue and green locked into each other. For a moment, she held her breath, trying to read his mind. No words were needed for their intimate exchange, but instead of silently yielding and asking for a truce, his emeralds narrowed down in provocation. Jaime turned his head towards Jon and Bronn, before fixating his gaze on Lyle.

“In fairness, Lady Brienne’s outlook on us clashing swords can be understood – but only because I had my hands tied and I was…”

“…malnourished and a prisoner for over a year!” Brienne completed him with a deep nod. “I have not forgotten _your _outlook on us clashing swords, Ser Jaime. However, your arguments do not change the fact that you could not defeat me in combat!”

“Neither could you, my Lady, and now we will never know the truth.” Jaime snarled victoriously, while lifting his golden hand in support of his words.

With the corner of her eye, Brienne saw the other three men looking at her with vivid interest, as if waiting to see whether she had any tricks up her sleeve to turn the verbal sparring in her favour. A sudden urge to have Jaime’s men cheering for her heated Brienne’s body and a wild idea made itself at home in her mind.

“What if could in fact settle our dispute, Ser?” Brienne asked with renewed politeness.

“I hope you are not suggesting a duel, my Lady. Anyone who has seen me swinging a sword in recent years can vouch it would hardly be a fair fight. You would not need a full heartbeat to disarm me.” Whether or not his dazzling smile meant to disarm _her_, in order to render the efforts at suggesting a settlement void, it nearly worked.

“I am curious to hear what you have in mind, my Lady.” The large man, whom she had not been formally introduced to, encouraged her to press forward. Slightly lifting her head to look at him, Brienne found herself wondering why the three of them were still standing. Were they waiting for others to join the council? Should they not take their seat already and start addressing serious issues instead of prolonging the courtesy talk? But his black gaze looked too daring to resist. In spite of herself, Brienne turned her head back towards Jaime and softly lifted her shoulders in order to ease in her words.

“What I am thinking of is a by proxy duel, Ser Jaime – a wager, why not.” The confusion in his eyes made her smile. “In one of our first days on the road, you told me you believed there were only three men alive in the whole of Westeros who could better you in single combat. If I were to better one of them – maybe our dispute could be settled once and for all.” 

Jaime bit his lower lip and looked at her as if on the verge of devouring a prey. She gulped, suddenly terrified she had overstepped a boundary. The permissiveness they had in private was owed to the multitude of secrets they shared. To her despair, judging by the look on Jaime’s face, that permissiveness was a secret in itself. Her stomach was reduced to knots and her self-confidence sank to the floor – but then Jaime burst into loud laughter. His tongue passed over his lips and his brows furrowed endearingly.

“I would pay a fortune to see you have a go at one of those men! I accept your wager, Lady Brienne. Name your price.”

“I am not that interested in fortunes, I am afraid. All I wish, Ser Jaime, is for you to admit that I would have won the fight on the bridge, had we not been so abruptly interrupted. I do not even care to have witnesses when you do it, Ser. An honest confession is my only price. You name yours, Ser.”

“You leave the Starks and come with me!” Jaime said in one breath without thinking of it twice. Brienne gasped and her heart began pounding beneath the maille, a painful hope reignited by his words. “You would be much more appreciated in the Lannister ranks than in an army of wildlings and northern men.” And her hope died just as suddenly as it appeared.

Unwilling to allow her heart’s momentary devastation to bring her down, Brienne hurried to agree to Jaime’s terms without fully realising what she was promising him. “So be it, Ser. Give me the three names.” 

“Ser Barristan Selmy, Ser Gregor Clegane and Sandor Clegane.” Jaime stated while counting them on his fingers.

“Sandor Clegane…” Brienne repeated, eyes widening in delightful surprise. The name felt like a Gods given blessing for her still aching heart. The warrior avenging the woman. She was whole and the thought soothed her like nothing else. “Sandor… the Hound?”

“Yes, my Lady – the Hound.” Jaime nodded.

Brienne straightened her back and lifted her chin high. “I am sorry, Ser Jaime, but… the last time I saw the Hound, I left him to die by the side of a road. He did put up a hell of a fight – I have to admit to this. We disarmed each other and ended up resorting to fists and teeth to end our fight – _but_ I did better him eventually. I am here after all and he is rotting somewhere in the Vale.”

“The Hound is dead, my Lady?” Jon Bettley’s calm and low voice claimed her attention.

“I believe so, Ser. I have not lingered by his body to ensure his passing, but unless a Maester was hidden somewhere nearby, I do not see how he could have survived his wounds.” The bald man looked at her without batting an eyelash. Brienne bit her lip and tilted her head politely. “I feel for your loss, Ser – I know House Clegane is sworn in the service of the Lannister army. However, I cannot stress enough that I am not one of you and, given that I have defeated one of the men on your Commander’s list, nor will I ever be.” Her sapphire eyes turned to Jaime just in time to witness a shadow of pain hardening his features. She gave him a cold smile, before turning her attention back to the older man.

“Clegane’s death brings us no loss, my Lady. Quite the contrary – Lyle and I had a mind of hunting him down once the Riverrun campaign was brought to its end. You seem to have turned our plans around.”

“If only you knew the weight of your words, Bettley.” Bronn laughed and Jaime took a threatening step in his direction before abruptly changing his mind and turning towards Brienne.

“You killed the Hound?” He sounded disbelieving and his tone offended her deeply.

“Yes, I did defeat the Hound, Ser. Do you need witnesses to vouch for _my_ words? – because Arya Stark and my squire were there!” As soon as the word left her mouth, Brienne gasped loudly, lifting her left hand to her chest. She had not dared to think much of Podrick since Ramsay Bolton’s men had separated them. Her heart shattered at once, while wave after wave of panic crashed over her body with the fury of an ocean storm. The room around her seemed to lose its shape and she felt light-headed, her legs ready to give in. What had Ramsay done to her poor Podrick?

“Brien… _Lady_ Brienne…” Jaime called her name with such worry in his voice that she nearly broke down into tears at the sound of it. She saw him lifting his hand to comfort her but, before he could do it, the man to her right touched her arm, softly wrapping his fingers around her elbow.

“You have a squire, my Lady?” His voice was soothing as a melody and his touch much gentler than she could have ever imagined. Brienne turned her misty eyes towards him, yet she refrained from replying out of fear of giving away her weakness. “Does your squire happen to be the nephew of Ser Cedric Payne?”

Swiftly, Brienne spun with her back towards Jaime, fully facing the towering knight. The hand she had forgotten pressed on her chest flung towards the one touching her elbow. Without realising, Brienne wrapped her fingers over his. “You know Podrick?” She whispered so lowly she was not sure whether the man heard her words or merely read them on her lips.

“I found him in the kennels, my Lady, shoved in a back cell.” 

“Is he alive? Is he alright?”

“He will be fine, Lady Brienne. I left him safely in good hands…” He smiled, squeezing her arm in reassurance, prompting her own hand to imitate his gesture. Her skin warmed over his as her grip tightened over his bare fingers. “I was with him just before coming here, making sure he fell asleep under poppy milk. I care for the lad – I remember him since he was a little weakly boy following his dreadful uncle around our camps. It was quite the shock to find him in Winterfell.”

The great relief and sense of gratitude flowing through her veins nearly pushed Brienne to wrap her arms around the unknown man. The Gods seemed more merciful with her than she could have ever hoped! Knowing what she had been put through, Brienne dared not imagine Podrick’s ordeal. She had to lock the thoughts of her squire suffering unfathomable tortures somewhere far away from her mind in order to protect her own sanity. Moments earlier, the resurfaced despair had nearly crushed her, threatening to ruin her chance at making a good impression in front of the men who had the power of building the road to peace. Now none of that matter. Her efforts were saved by him. Her heart felt light and joyful. And for that she smiled wholeheartedly when their eyes locked.

“No one could have given me sweeter news. Podrick is in Winterfell because of me and…” Brienne shook her head and bit her lip, her hand moving away from his. “… let’s just say Ramsay Bolton had little understanding of how a white flag works.” A lie, but she could have never shared the truth. “I am thanking you from the bottom of my soul, Ser ahm…”

“Lyle Crakehall.” The man said letting go of her arm and bowing his head politely. 

“The Strongboar!” Brienne exclaimed appreciatively.

“Oh, have you heard of me, my Lady?”

“I naturally have, Ser. Your reputation as a fighter is as notorious as that of the Mountain…” The man frowned doubting her words and Brienne’s cheeks flushed red. “…or at least as that of the Hound. Either way, your reputation as a knight and man far exceeds theirs.”

Crakehall chuckled. “My Lady, you are too kind! If what you say were to be true, Ser Jaime would have counted me on that little list of his… why am I not on your list anyway? I bettered you a couple of times in our youth.” Lyle demanded to know and Brienne turned towards Jaime to see his reaction.

The lion tilted his head and she frowned. His green eyes were burning and his teeth were clenched so fiercely Brienne almost expected him to draw his sword. She could not understand why he was suddenly so angry. “You are not on my list because your reputation as a knight is too mellow, as Lady Brienne politely noted.”

“It is not at all what I said, Ser Jaime!” She responded outraged. What had gotten into him? Did he really not believe her when she said she defeated the Hound? “I merely meant that tales of Ser Lyle’s honour and kindness have travelled far.”

“Precisely – you’re mellow, Crakehall!” Jaime nodded with a snarl.

Lyle narrowed his eyes at Jaime, jaw tightening, before looking back at Brienne. “You know, my Lady, your name has also reached my ear. Tales of you winning the great melee at Bitterbridge and securing a place in Renly Baratheon’s guard have also travelled far.”

Brienne smiled unsurely, but bowed her head respectfully. “It was a great honour to be there.” What else could she say among people who considered Renly to be a usurper?

“I have heard that you won the melee against Ser Loras Tyrell, is that true, my Lady?” Brienne nodded at his words and Lyle’s black eyes turned back on Jaime. “Now correct me if I am wrong, _Commander_, but hasn’t Loras unmounted you during a tourney for King Joffrey’s nameday?”

Jaime stiffened and Brienne’s heart skipped a beat as Bronn and Jon Bettley burst into laughter.

“That is quite true.” The bald man said softening his chuckles. “He threw you off your horse in a most unexpected manner! I remember that day well because I lost a lot of money – as did most of the audience – just because Loras Tyrell bettered Jaime Lannister. No one saw that coming!”

“Did Lannister have two hands when that happened?” Bronn joined in and Lyle nodded.

Brienne’s eyes slid sideways hoping to find Jaime’s and read his reaction. When he caught her looking, he turned his head away, preferring to pout his lips at Bronn instead. The sellsword snorted loudly, slapping his leg with his palm in vulgar amusement. She felt a sudden knot forming in her stomach at the thought of Jaime being laughed at by his inferiors because of her. She had wanted them to cheer for her and accept her in their midst - but by no means at Jaime's expense!

“So th‘lady slew the Hound – a man on your list – and also kicked Tyrell’s ass – a man you actually lost to.” Bronn continued his mockery pointing with his goblet towards Jaime. “_Now correct me if I’m wrong…_” The shameless cutthroat imitated the Strongboar. “… but I think it’s safe to assume she won your brawl on that damned bridge. So go on, pay your price! Admit you lost to her! Aren’t you Lannisters bragging about your debts with every second breath you draw?” 

Jaime swallowed hard and opened his mouth, but Brienne moved swiftly around the armchair – for the split of a second looking as if she positioned herself between him and his attacker – before finally sitting down on the soft furs she had lingered by ever since entering that room. She could not – would not! – allow anyone to mock Jaime on her watch. Her heart could not take it, even if that meant sacrificing her own pride.

“If I am to be honest with myself – no matter how much I wish I could prove that my outlook on Ser Jaime and I clashing swords is the one ringing true… we will never have a definitive ruling. We all know, from our various experiences, that a good or a bad day can make the greatest difference in a fight. I defeated the Hound – yes – but I was driven by the need to fulfil the oath…” Brienne looked at Jaime who lowered himself back on his seat too. “… I made to Catelyn Stark.” Their secrets were their own and she was not about to let a bunch of strangers to intrude the intimacy of their relationship. _Our bond transcends love and friendship. His Oathkeeper is mine and I am his oath-keeper._ Her earlier revelation echoed loudly in her mind and she would have gladly renounced her reputation for his. “Likewise – or even more so – at Bitterbridge, I defeated everyone – including Ser Loras Tyrell – for the King and the just cause I believed in. Sers, take my word for it, but on that day – with the emotions running through my blood at having been allowed to leave Tarth to fight in a real war in spite of the limitations of my sex – I swear to you that I would have bettered Ser Arthur Dayne for my place beside King Renly! Both these instances were not simple duels. At the end of the day it was the higher stakes that fully contributed to my winnings.” Brienne smiled looking at Jon Bettley, then at Bronn and up to Lyle, who was again leaning over the back of the armchair she now occupied. “A duel by proxy would never grant a fully satisfactory answer… truth is, we will never know who would have won that fight on the bridge, no point in arguing over it when we have much more important issues to discuss.”

Jon Bettley smiled at her with parental indulgence, while Bronn’s smirk held a meaning much deeper than he let show. Turning her head to look at Jaime, Brienne found herself drown in his eyes. Had they always been that green? Had he always been that beautiful, that precious to her heart? The way he looked at her as if in awe at her very existence made her body melt against the furs. For a moment, the love she thought she saw in his eyes made her forget they were not alone in the room.

“For what it’s worth, Jaime, I am honoured to have been the last person you swung your sword at while still having your right hand…” His lips parted so softy she nearly licked hers. In another life, she would have kissed him. In another life, he might have kissed her back. In this one she merely whispered: “…and I will never forget why you do not have it anymore…”

“My Lady…” Jaime seemed to barely manage to control the tremor in his voice – or perhaps she merely imagined it. She smiled at him and nodded politely and he tilted his head in appreciation.

“Oh, Lady Brienne…” Lyle whispered from above and she lifted her chin to look at him towering over the back of her seat. “I so wish you would have lost that wager… I have seldom met someone as strong principled as you. It is such a shame you are wasting your talents on the Starks.” 

“I think, Ser Lyle, that you are underestimating the Starks. I would not make such mistake in your stead.” Brienne replied politely.

“You’re the stubbornly loyal type, are you not, my Lady?” Bettley asked reaching for the pitcher of wine and silently asking her whether she wanted a goblet.

“I would say so, Ser Jon…” Came her words in response to his, while she shook her head refusing the beverage.

“I look forward to seeing you proving your loyalty and stubbornness by telling us why Jon Snow and his Lady sister wanted to offer Ramsay Bolton a parley.”

“Are we not waiting for others to join the council?” Brienne asked unsure. "Shall we commence?"

“Jaime Lannister, like his father before him, is not one to trust many people with such delicate matters as waging a war.” Lyle said jokingly, although the verity of his words could not be questioned. He moved towards Jaime’s armchair and sat down on the rail right beside him. Looking at the two men sharing a seat, it suddenly dawned on her that she should have realised their bickering was nothing but a sign of closeness. “Mind you, my Lady, he is so secretive that we were way into the Barrowlands when Jaime decided to let us know why we were in the North in the first place! I had no clue why we left the Twins north and I am his second in command – this is preposterous!”

Brienne narrowed her eyes at the man’s words. The question she had asked herself the whole day came to the forefront of her thoughts again. What were they doing there? What drove the Lannisters to Winterfell? _I dreamt of you_… he had said, but what did that even mean? _I dreamt of you…_ it sounded too familiar, like she had heard it before. Had she?

“Since Jaime took the lead of the Lannister forces, our war councils are really snug. It’s just five of us, really… Jaime – the Commander, myself – his second in command, Lord Bettley – in charge of the foot soldiers, Addam Marbrand leading the Lannister cavalry – currently busy holding Riverrun – and Bronn – Jaime’s right hand.” A smile curved his lips and his dark eyes twinkled in amusement. “And I do not mean that in terms of influence on military decisions, but quite literally his right hand in combat.” Bronn nodded as if to testify to Crakehall’s words. “As you see, my Lady, we are entirely among…” Lyle looked at Jaime and patted him on his shoulder. “… I would say friends, but Ser Jaime does not do friends, so I suppose we are… ahm…”

As Lyle struggled to find his words, Bronn clasped his hands together exclaiming too loudly. “Brothers in arms!”

Jon Betley laughed softly, sipping from his wine with the same calmness and composure he had displayed during the entire time she had known him. “Brothers in arms sounds quite right.”

“I’d say even the lady is one in our band of brothers. I think Jaime'd agree. Do you, _Commander_?” Bronn provoked. Jaime swallowed hard and looked at her as if wondering whether she had told the cutthroat something. Guilt washed over her and she had to lower her head, averting her eyes from him.

“_Ser_ Bronn…” Brienne murmured, half a plea and half a threat. “I believe that regardless of what Ser Jaime might privately think of me – in the light of our experiences together – it would be highly improper for a military commander to use such fraternising terms while describing the sworn sword of the enemy.”

Bronn's laughter echoed through the walls. “I bloody love your _sword_ !” Despite looking straight at her, the sellsword’s words somehow seemed like meant for someone else - for _him_.

“Valyrian steel…” Brienne mumbled unsure of what to say, while her fingers wrapped protectively around Oathkeeper’s hilt.

“Aye’ I can see that clearly…” Bronn tilted his head, a fugitive look in Jaime’s direction, before reaching for the pitcher. “Worth all the trouble of getting it back and all the courage to keep it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking forward to seeing what you think of Brienne introduction into Jaime's "band of brothers". Xx


	11. Patience. Understanding. Support.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Long long long time no see. I do apologise for it... I was rather derailed. 
> 
> This chapter is a retelling of the previous one but from Jaime's PoV, an exploration of his emotions throughout the conversation between Brienne and the knights of his 'snug' war council. If you have the time and wish to, I believe it would be an interesting read if you went back to Brienne's PoV in the previous chapter to see how differently she and Jaime experience the same situation. 
> 
> This chapter is for Merrymaya, my dear dear friend who kept on telling me that I should come back to update this story because she misses it. Thank you so much for the much-needed nudges! You truly were the ink in my pen! I hope you will like this chapter and I do apologise for splitting the original 12k chapter in two... but heeeey, now there's a new one (still yours!) coming very soon! 

“You leave the Starks and come with me!” Jaime named his price in a heartbeat and yet, as soon as the words were out, their deep implications left his throat dry and his chest throbbing. _Would she ever do it?_ The question begged and so did his eyes searching for hers.

He felt drained, emotionally and physically alike. The day had not been an easy one. If anything, it had seemed like carved straight from of a piece of hell. The battle had raged on the whole night, ending only towards dawn. His men had slaughtered an entire allied House and two other Northern Lords at his orders. Some Lannister knights had also fallen. The little sleep he had managed to catch was seriously affected by the swords in his bed. The walls of Winterfell were covered in red and gold banners. Winter came! Time and time again he could not get the words right with _her!_ All he wanted was to help, but Gods he was so ill-equipped for the delicate task. He lacked the tact, he lacked the patience, he lacked the emotional distance needed in an act of selfless support. Every attempt brought new offences. The waters were getting muddier between them. His feelings for her raised the stakes of every interaction, but the trauma of having seen her hurt brought his sanity to its knees. Jaime was well aware he had to handle himself and allow Brienne to take charge of her response to what had happened! And yet, from the depths of his being, the desire of seizing control of the situation was surfacing stronger than anything he had felt in a long while!

Reason and loyalties be damned! He and Brienne should simply ride away and leave behind that horrible place of doom! They could start anew, hand in hand. He could forsake his name for her, his birthrights, his lands, his rank, his title! All she had to do was to give him a sign. He had done all that before for love and he would do it again – with meaning and purpose this time around! And for the right woman.

But Brienne’s eyes enlarged at his words and she gasped at the preposterousness of his request. Relinquishment of any sort was not something that woman's noble soul looked upon favourably – and even less so when it implied a breaching of knightly oaths. Jaime bit the inside of his cheeks cursing his weakness in the face of love. “You would be much more appreciated in the Lannister ranks than in an army of wildlings and northern men.” He added promptly in a futile attempt to cleanse the smear off his price.

“So be it, Ser. Give me the three names.” Brienne replied with such readiness and self-confidence that he felt compelled to deliver on her request at once.

“Ser Barristan Selmy, Ser Gregor Clegane and Sandor Clegane.” He blurted out while keeping track of their number with the use of his fingers and the beats of his heart. It appeared that, in her youthful innocence, Brienne failed to realise what losing the wager _truly_ entailed. A grain of hope crawled in his soul as he selfishly prayed to the Warrior to weaken her sword hand in that duel to come. Gambling was not among his sins, yet just this once he threw it all in. By means of hazard, the woman who had stolen his wits might be bound to abandon his enemies and follow him for a change! 

“Sandor Clegane…” She repeated on a high pitched tone, derailing his reverie. Had Jaime not known her any better than that, he’d swear she outright gloated! “Sandor… the Hound?”

“Yes, my Lady – the Hound.” He nodded, brow furrowing deeply in confusion.

Brienne straightened her back and lifted her chin high. “I am sorry, Ser Jaime, but… the last time I saw the Hound, I left him to die by the side of a road.” A knot formed in his stomach. “He did put up a hell of a fight – I have to admit to this. We disarmed each other and ended up resorting to fists and teeth to end our fight – _but_ I did better him eventually. I am here after all and he is rotting somewhere in the Vale.”

Her words felt much like a heavy slap across the freshly shaved skin of a cheek. The semblance of hope he had mustered mere moments before, was suddenly replaced by gut-wrenching dread. _That could not be true! How could it all be over before it even began?_ Jaime clenched his fist and dug his fingernails deep into his palm in order to keep his composure. He looked at Brienne turning her attention to Jon Bettley’s questions about the Hound. He looked at her replying to those questions, but could not hear a word she spoke. All he could think of was her being right there, within his reach, and yet slipping through his fingers all the same.

No matter what he wished, no matter how ardently he wished for it, Brienne was sworn to the Starks! She had always cared for them more than she had grown to care for him! Just that morning, as he struggled to find the right way to offer his unconditional help, she had pushed him away and voiced her readiness to return to them! As the realisation washed over him, Jaime had to squeeze his eyes shut to suppress the sudden urge of vomiting. The mere thought of her leaving his side again made it hard for him to breathe. She could not leave! He could not _let_ her leave, not after Ramsay! Deep in his bones, Jaime knew he would lose his right mind not knowing where she was at all times! With her gone from his sight, he would become a madman at the mercy of his worst nightmares. How would he ever convince himself that she was not perpetually in danger after what had happened? He could not!

An ivory tower to lock her in was a horrible thought to be thinking and yet he could not help himself. No one would reach her there! For the love of the almighty Father above, she would be protected from all harm! Jaime bit his tongue not to shout it loudly to the skies. The worst part of it was the painful awareness that his mind was way out of line for even considering such a thing! Were she able to hear what went through his skull, Brienne would hate him until the end of time. Were she able to hear it, he would lose her forever. A weakling in need of protection was not who that woman was! Yet a man desperate to offer that protection to the one his heart yearned for was precisely who _he_ was.

Lost in the storm clouding his head, Jaime vaguely heard Jon Bettley saying: _“You seem to have turned our plans around.”_ And for a brief moment, his chest tightened in a choking sensation. Without realising, he had slipped away inside and lost focus, which was an entirely dangerous affair given the company they were in. Regardless of his innermost fears and the overwhelming exhaustion they caused, Jaime had to strive to remain present before someone said something dangerous.

Just then, as if smelling his concern, Bronn snarled provocatively. “If only you knew the weight of your words, Bettley.”

Jaime gulped, hit below the belt. Involuntarily, he clenched his fist and took a threatening step towards the cutthroat who knew too much. The bastard should have learnt his place already! He simply had to cease pushing his luck by abusing the silence and trust insane amounts of Lannister money strove to buy. Yet the sellsword did not such thing. Instead, he smiled defiantly, prompting Jaime to bare his teeth at him before abruptly changing his mind and turning his focus back on Brienne.

“You killed the Hound?” He asked shaking his head in utter disbelief. Maybe he had misheard! In all honesty, he had not really listened.

“Yes, I did defeat the Hound, _Ser _!” Jaime cringed at the tone of her voice. Once again, he had managed to offend her without even realising his words ran that risk. “Do you need witnesses to vouch for _my_ word?” Brienne retaliated, alluding to his untrustworthy reputation. Jaime clenched his jaw to contain the growl in his throat. Whatever this new dynamic of theirs was meant to be, he hated it! The situation was getting ridiculous! She was hurtful and absurd! Overnight it appeared that the two of them began speaking completely different languages. An urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake her hard ran deep in his veins. _Enough, Brienne! It is enough!_ He wanted to scream. “– because Arya Stark and my squire were there!”

And he was just about to, when Brienne gasped loudly and pressed a hand to her chest. The mesmerising blue of her irises turned dark and she began panting as if on the brick of panic. Just like that, in a heartbeat, the mentioning of her squire threw her off balance. Jaime froze, his impulsive anger vanishing in the face of the demons seizing her right in front of his eyes.

_Too soon..._ the revelation struck him. It was too soon to pretend normalcy from her. Brave as she was, Brienne was wearing her inner armour, fighting another day. She was ignoring her wounds, trying her best! But it was too soon! _Too soon... _just the other night she had been up in that tower. The horrid scene returned to his mind's eye and he took a couple of steps towards her, terrified.

“Brien…” His voice trembled in fear, but he cleared it out quickly. “_Lady_ Brienne...” He corrected himself, not wishing to embarrass her in front of his men. He needed to remain calm and in control for both of them. He needed to be her shield, while she was having her moment. Eyeing the pitcher of wine on the small table, Jaime thought quickly of a spillage diversion to shift the other men's attention from her. While getting ready to discretely kicking the small table's rather wobbly looking leg, he lifted his hand with the intention of silently reassuring her she was no longer alone. Yet, he did not get to do any of that.

Jaime paused with his hand mid-air, entirely dazed as Lyle Crakehall touched Brienne's elbow. His second in command mouthed something softly and claimed her undivided attention. Without even blinking, Brienne turned her back on him for the other knight, rendering Jaime petrified. _What had just happened?_

She placed her hand over Lyle’s, skin to skin, their fingers intertwining in an intimate manner. Other than frowning so deeply that his vision blurred, Jaime could not move a single muscle. He attempted to pay attention to the nature of their conversation, but the language of their bodies pushed their verbal exchange beyond his basic comprehension. The scene unfolding before his eyes made no sense and neither did the throbbing in his chest.

To his shame, Jaime knew entirely too well the wretched feeling that was steadily heating his blood, for he had often succumbed to it before. It was jealousy. Vicious, unjustified, unreasonable jealousy - taking hold of him, clogging his mind, flaring up his impulsiveness, and stirring his anger! He had to control himself. He had to hold onto his diminishing common sense! It was absurd! Uncalled for! He had no right to feel such damning emotion in relation to Brienne, a woman he had never openly admitted any interest for. Worse than that still! It was _Brienne_ ! The wench was pure, her heart was innocent! She was no wanton indulging in the attention of stranger men...

But Brienne leaned in towards Lyle, curtailing the trail of his thoughts. She whispered something close to his ear and the knight nodded gently, a soft smile curving his lips. Unbidden, Jaime’s stomach turned upside down and any semblance of self-control was lost. _What in the name of all Seven did fucking Crakehall think he was doing?_

“No one could have given me sweeter news.” Brienne _purred_ and Jaime groaned threateningly under his breath, barely able to keep his mouth from falling open like that of a dimwit. “I am thanking you from the bottom of my soul, Ser ahm…”

“Lyle Crakehall.” The tall, broad-shouldered knight replied hoarsely, his dark eyes laid lustfully on her.

“The Strongboar!” She gasped sounding like a maiden on the brick of swooning before the object of her affection.

“Oh, have you heard of me, _my _Lady?” The way Lyle addressed her was the last drop. _How dared he? _The man had just met Brienne! She was an unwed noble lady. There were rules of propriety to be observed! He could not just come in and – Jaime paused mid-thought, swallowing hard.

Well! Lyle could not just come in and start treating her in the manner Jaime had failed to for years. It was unfair. It was a cruel punishment from those horrible Gods most prayed to. Jaime had sinned. He had lived in darkness and denial for a long while - he was aware of that! Yet now he wholeheartedly went over and beyond himself to rectify his past failings. He was trying his damn best to be patient, understanding and supportive. He was trying to keep his calm, earn his right to call her _'my Lady' _one sacrifice at a time! There was absolutely no need for a stronger man of better reputation to come in emphasising all of Jaime's shortcomings! For he was perfectly capable to ruin his chances with Brienne all by himself!

“I naturally have, Ser.” Brienne confessed appreciatively. “Your reputation as a fighter is as notorious as that of the Mountain or at least as that of the Hound. Either way, your reputation as a knight and a man far exceeds theirs.” Hearing her praising another man like that, Jaime rolled his eyes, all but growling like a cornered animal. His _rival_ chuckled pushing the lion's nerves beyond the breaking point.

“My Lady, you are too kind! If what you say were to be true, Ser Jaime would have counted me on that little list of his.” For the first time since the intimate interaction began, Lyle’s preying eyes left Brienne and rested provocatively on Jaime. “Why am I not on your list anyway? I bettered you a couple of times in our youth.” At the knight’s words, Brienne turned around with a bewildered expression on her face, as if surprised to remember Jaime was still there! He glared viciously at her in response, channelling that self-restraint he had so little of into not drawing his sword at his second in command. For he could show the rat then and there exactly why he was not on _that little list of his!_ Jaime did not need two hands to prove who the better man was!

“You are not on my list because your reputation as a knight is too mellow, as Lady Brienne politely noted.” The lion hissed through clench teeth, letting his hand slide from the sword belt. He did need two hands, Lyle was a prolific swordsman, but that was not the point.

Brienne gasped. “It is not at all what I said, Ser Jaime!” She responded outraged, all too eager to defend her new favourite. “I merely meant that tales of Ser Lyle’s honour and kindness have travelled far.”

“Precisely – you’re mellow, Crakehall!” Jaime snarled and Lyle narrowed his eyes. Their looks crossed for a split of a second, just enough for Jaime to realise his second in command understood all too well where he had offended his superior. And yet, Lyle chose to push his defiance further. With a grin meant as a personal affront to Jaime, the broad man leaned slightly towards Brienne, dark eyes drowning in her mesmerising ocean gaze.

“You know, my Lady, your name has also reached my ear.” His tone was low, deep, an outpouring of obscene virility. “Tales of you winning the great melee at Bitterbridge and securing a place in Renly Baratheon’s guard have also travelled far.” Jaime’s heart stopped. _Renly! _ How dared Lyle drag Renly in the conversation? Alas, the man simply could not know about Brienne's history with Renly, but that did not soften the brutality of the blow. Now the wench was thinking of her cock-loving stag!

Brienne smiled coyly, bowing her head a little flustered. “It was a great honour to be there.” She whispered with emotion in her voice as her cheeks turned a delightful shade of red. Jaime bit his tongue bloody to keep himself from reacting. A pile of bones and rotten flesh, that's what the usurper was! And yet it seemed the living could never fear the dead enough. It was absurd!

“I have heard that you won the melee against Ser Loras Tyrell, is that true, my Lady?” Brienne nodded at his words and Lyle’s black eyes turned back on Jaime. His second in command smirked in provocation: “Now correct me if I am wrong, _Commander_, but hasn’t Loras unmounted you during a tourney for King Joffrey’s nameday?”

Bronn and Jon Bettley burst into laughter. Jaime drew in a deep breath, unsure of what Lyle was after. The words were meant as an attack, that was transparent. Yet his heated blood seemed to have dulled his reflexes, making it hard for him to realise where the blow was aimed at. A fatal mistake.

“That is quite true.” Bettley said through muffled fits of laughter. “He threw you off your horse in a most unexpected manner! I remember that day well because I lost a lot of money – as did most of the audience – just because Loras Tyrell bettered Ser Jaime Lannister. No one saw that coming!”

“Did Lannister have two hands when that happened?” Bronn grinned. The blow landed and Jaime gasped loudly at the hit. It was too late for him to fashion a respectable defence. As the others laughed in unison, Bronn continued his mockery pointing with his wine goblet at Jaime. “So th‘lady slew the Hound – a man on your list – and also kicked Tyrell’s ass – a man you actually lost to. _Now correct me if I’m wrong..._” The shameless cutthroat imitated the Strongboar. “...but I think it’s safe to assume she won your brawl on that damned bridge.”

Jaime stood there stunned. His immature jealousy replaced in a moment by a deeper, much more unsettling feeling: betrayal. Hers. Theirs.

With tired eyes he searched the room, unable to react. Their synchronised cruel attacks had left him cornered, with no chance of salvaging his pride. Jon Bettley, the calm and composed tactician that even all-knowing Tywin had occasionally listened closely to, provided an important piece of reference in building the perfect strategy of battle. Bronn of the Blackwater, the one meant to be his guard, to protect his maimed old body from blows he could no longer react to on his own, had stabbed him repeatedly with vicious mockery. Lyle Crakehall, his trusted childhood buddy who was now in charge, alongside him, of all the Lannister forces, commanded the attack with deadly precision. And then there was her... Brienne of Tarth, the woman he loved, quietly analysing the situation, taking in everyone's fighting style and fashioning hers accordingly in order to deliver the perfect final blow. It was a tragic irony. The only swordfighters in the hands of whom he would have placed his life, now allied in the act of running their treacherous swords right through his gut. 

“So go on, pay your price!” Bronn pushed the matter forward. “Admit you lost to her! Aren’t you Lannisters bragging about your debts with every second breath you draw?”

Jaime swallowed hard, still unable to decide how to respond. Any other time, he most likely wouldn’t have minded this type of familiarity between him and the closest people he had to friends. But having his prowess scrutinised and demolished all while the woman he loved was being courted by another, made him feel worthless. Jaime knew his motives for calling Brienne a 'brother-in-arms', but what if she truly saw him like that? After all, their relationship had always been an antagonising one, filled with japes and bickering - much like what he used to have with Tyrion, before he murdered their father. The more he thought of it, the surer Jaime became that, in fact, nothing about his interactions with Brienne was strikingly different now, in the aftermath of the other night, than it had been in the past. The only thing that truly changed was how he felt about her. _They_ spoke no different languages overnight. It was _him_ who did - suddenly seeking and expecting more from every word she said. A _more_ that was not there... and that was what truly lied beneath the painfulness he felt at their so-thought _different_ dynamic. It was also why he felt defeated by the attack he was under. What if no matter how patient, understanding and supportive he managed to become, he still stood no chance with her? What if there would never be a _more. _She was young. He was not. She had the better years of her life still ahead, while his were already past him. Granted, Lyle was no green knight either, but he had led a better life than Jaime. He was a better man, a better knight, a better catch. And, most importantly, unlike every other man she had ever crossed paths with - Jaime above them all, Lyle saw Brienne for all she was worth from the very moment his eyes rested on her.

Making up his mind, Jaime opened his mouth to officially admit that he believed Brienne would have truly won their fight on the bridge. But she moved swiftly around the armchair, sitting down on the soft furs. Knowing her as he did, Jaime realised with bewilderment that Brienne yielded. Contrary to his supposition, she had no intention in delivering any blow in what he had seen as a syncronised attack. 

“If I am to be honest with myself –” Brienne began on a low voice sending shivers down his spine and turning his weak heart into melted wax. _What was she doing?_ “No matter how much I wish I could prove that my outlook on Ser Jaime and I clashing swords is the one ringing true… we will never have a definitive ruling. We all know, from our various experiences, that a good or a bad day can make the greatest difference in a fight. I defeated the Hound – yes – but I was driven by the need to fulfil the oath...” _Defending him _\- that's what she was doing. When she looked at him with nothing but loyalty and devotion in her sapphire blue eyes, Jaime could no longer keep standing. Betrayed by his trembling legs, he had to lower himself back on his seat, while a whirlwind of emotions took possession of his insides. “...the oath I made to Catelyn Stark.” _And to you -_ her eyes added silently for his benefit alone, while her lips did not betray their sacred secret in front of the others. “Likewise – or even more so – at Bitterbridge, I defeated everyone – including Ser Loras Tyrell – for the King and the just cause I believed in. Sers, take my word for it, but on that day – with the emotions running through my blood at having been allowed to leave Tarth to fight in a real war in spite of the limitations of my sex – I swear to you that I would have bettered Ser Arthur Dayne for my place beside King Renly!” Jaime smiled softly at her, surprisingly unbothered by her words and the memories they carried. “Both these instances were not simple duels. At the end of the day, it was the higher stakes that fully contributed to my winnings. A duel by proxy would never grant a fully satisfactory answer... the truth is, we will never know who would have won that fight on the bridge, no point in arguing over it when we have much more important issues to discuss.”

Blissfully, any trace of vicious jealousy seemed to have left him. It had been neither right, nor fair of him to feel something like that. The root of his reaction had lain in knowing too well his own faults. It was not Renly's fault, nor Lyle's that _he_ had wasted precious time. What he had to do was prove to Brienne that he had changed and his feelings were true. Stomping on Renly's corpse and drawing his sword at Lyle was not the way to go about it. It was not them he had to _better_, but the asshole tied to a pole in Robb Stark's camp whose first words to her were _'Is that a woman? Where did you find this beast?'_. That's who he was up against!

“For what it’s worth, _Jaime..._” The softness of her tone pulled him out of his self-hatred, while his bare name on her lips made him feel weak. _Maybe, there was hope for a more after all._ “I am honoured to have been the last person you swung your sword at while still having your right hand...” Jaime parted his lips, not to say something, for he wouldn't have found his voice, but to take in a deep breath as her confession knocked the air out of his chest. Were he able to move, he would have lowered himself to his knees in front of her and pulled her down from her furs and into his arms. Her eyes twinkled lost in his and a sad smile graced her lips. Barely above a whisper, she added: “...and I will never forget why you do not have it anymore...”

“My Lady...” Jaime moaned painfully, his voice trembling as his heart shattered to pieces. Unbidden, his mind filled with her screams from that night when Locke had taken them prisoners. The more he tried to push the echos away, the louder they became. And worse, they blended with the fresher memory of her caught prey in Ramsay's grip. He had failed her! He had chosen her too late and she paid the price of _his_ denial. He had failed her... and no amounts of regrets, no amounts of patience, of understanding, of support, could ever erase what Ramsay had put her through! It mattered not that now he would eagerly sacrifice his other hand, his eyes, his manhood, the weight of Casterly Rock in gold, his very life to spare her... it mattered not, he had let her leave and he had followed her too late...

“Oh, Lady Brienne...” His second in command chanted appreciatively, breaking the spell. It was not the moment, not the place to dissect his guilt. Striving to keep present and not allow his sorrows to drown him yet, Jaime looked at Lyle with newly found indulgence. He was perhaps a gift of sorts, for it certainly did Brienne good to be thus gallantly treated in the context of those darker times. “I do wish you would have lost that wager... I have seldom met someone as strong principled as you. It is such a shame you are wasting your talents on the Starks.”

“I think, Ser Lyle, that you are underestimating the Starks. I would not make such mistake in your stead.” Brienne replied politely.

“You’re the stubbornly loyal type, are you not, my Lady?” Bettley asked reaching for the pitcher of wine, silently asking her whether she wanted a goblet. Brienne shook her head refusing the beverage, but she approved the older man in his assumption regarding her character. “Well, I look forward to seeing you proving your loyalty and stubbornness by telling us why Jon Snow and his Lady sister wanted to offer Ramsay Bolton a parley.”

“Are we not waiting for others to join the council?” Brienne asked unsurely.

“Jaime Lannister, like his father before him, is not one to trust many people with such delicate matters as waging a war.” Lyle said jokingly, walking towards him. The broad man placed a strong hand on his shoulder, smiling a friendly smile, before sitting on the armrest, just beside him. “Mind you, my Lady, Jaime is so secretive that we were way into the Barrowlands when he decided to let us know why we were in the North in the first place! I had no clue why we left the Twins north and I am his second in command – this is preposterous!” When Brienne narrowed her eyes suspiciously, Jaime had to battle the urge of elbowing his second in command for his indiscretion. Lyle did not seem to notice, so he went on with his line of thought. “Since Jaime took the lead of the Lannister forces, our war councils are really snug. It’s just five of us, really. Jaime – the Commander, myself – his second in command, Lord Bettley – in charge of the foot soldiers, Addam Marbrand leading the Lannister cavalry, currently busy holding Riverrun, and Bronn – Jaime’s right hand.” A smile curved Lyle's lips and his dark eyes twinkled in amusement. “And I do not mean that in terms of influence on military decisions, but quite literally his right hand in combat.”

Jaime’s eyes met Bronn’s. The cutthroat held his gaze in an unsettling manner that promised trouble. Unlike any other in the room, Bronn knew exactly what was going on! Bronn knew why they had ridden north. Bronn knew why Brienne was in Winterfell. Alas, Bronn quite surely knew of the jealousy Jaime had had to battle earlier and he had most definitely enjoyed sensing it. _You’re a fucking coward, Lannister_. His 'right hand' had accused at the beginning of their journey northwards. It was only now that Jaime started to fully understand the veracity of those words.

“As you see, my Lady, we are entirely among...” Lyle looked at Jaime and patted him some more on the shoulder. “...I would say friends, but Ser Jaime does not do _friends_, so I suppose we are... ahm...” Jaime rolled his eyes at Lyle's lack of smoothness. Unmistakably, what the second in command seemed to be asking was what role did Brienne hold among them. They all had their own place at Jaime's side. Was she special to him too? 

“Brothers in arms!” Bronn exclaimed loudly clapping his hands together. Ironically, in only one breath, the cutthroat saved Jaime from having to answer himself, yet damned him by answering with those foul words in his stead.

“Brothers in arms sounds quite right.” Lyle laughed.

“I’d say even the lady is one in our band of brothers. I think Jaime'd agree. Do you, _Commander?”_ Bronn provoked. Jaime clenched his teeth and turned to look at Brienne, wondering whether she had been complaining to the sellsword about it. Had him calling her a 'brother' bothered her truly? Jaime's eyes flickered hopefully.

“_Ser_ Bronn...” Brienne murmured threateningly, neck flushing red in shame to Jaime's utter delight. _She had!_ She had complained about it! It did bother her! “I believe that regardless of what Ser Jaime might privately think of me – in the light of our experiences together – it would be highly improper for a military commander to use such fraternising terms while describing the sworn sword of the enemy.”

Bronn's laughter echoed through the walls. “I bloody love your _sword!”_ Jaime swallowed hard at the words and fought to suppress the proud smile that threatened to splash all over his face. _Damn right! He bloody loved his sword too!_ There was no one like her and there was no one else for him. He would wait a lifetime, if a lifetime was what it took. 

Brienne’s beautiful eyes sparkled in confusion, a shadow of delightful innocence playing on her features as she mumbled _“Valyrian steel...”_ while wrapping her long fingers protectively around Oathkeeper’s hilt.

“Aye, I can see that clearly...” Bronn said reaching for the pitcher while throwing a fugitive look Jaime's way. “Worth all the trouble of getting it back and all the courage to keep it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter!  
Looking forward to reading your impressions on it! Xx


	12. The very future of his family...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❤️❤️❤️ Thank you so much everyone for receiving so warmly my latest chapter. It has been entirely too long between updates... I know, I know, and I apologise once more for it with this instalment which (somehow) has spiralled from 6k words to 10k during the editing. I hope you won't mind terribly! 
> 
> Merrymaya this is for you! Thank you for cheering me on and for listening to all the spoilers I am too excited to contain. Hope you will enjoy this chapter - I mean, I know you will [said she coyly]. 😘
> 
> On a rather less amusing note, it has recently come to my attention that the very core idea of this fic has been replicated in another. Nothing is new in fanfiction, so this should be flattering... The problem is that certain chapters and scenes have an infuriating degree of similarity - to the point where I jokingly played "can you spot the 5 differences between the pictures?" with the two versions. This too could have been fine. After all, in the very first chapter of _I dreamt_, I copied GRRM's version of _the dream_ nearly to the letter as well. I, however, have underlined that the dream sequence was inspired by another's work. This is what bothered me most - the fact that the author of the other fic did not bother giving any semblance of credit when their story has without the slightest doubt been inspired by this one. It is truly a shame. Had they mentioned their source of inspiration, I would have been a devoted reader of that story, cheering the author on and being curious to see where they took the idea and how they made it blossom. Now, I am just really, really upset...
> 
> Apparently today is International Fanwork Day. Hence, I thought it would be a good opportunity to raise this issue. In this community, where everything we do is a labour of love, we should show solidarity and support each other - not succumb to blows below the belt and backstabs.
> 
> 🤗🤗🤗 Now moodiness aside, I hope you will all enjoy reading this chapter at least as much as I enjoyed reading (and editing) it. Happy reading! Xx

_[Brienne’s beautiful eyes sparkled in confusion, a shadow of delightful innocence playing on her features as she mumbled “Valyrian steel...” while wrapping her long fingers protectively around Oathkeeper’s hilt._

_“Aye, I can see that clearly...” Bronn said reaching for the pitcher while throwing a fugitive look Jaime's way. “Worth all the trouble of getting it back and all the courage to keep it.”]_

_I am no craven… _Jaime thought to himself, pondering the real meaning of Bronn’s words. _I’m strong enough…_ his mind echoed loudly. It had taken a long and tedious journey for him to realise his feelings for Brienne. Sacrifices great and small had to be made, high prices had to be paid on both sides… and the battle was far from being won. But it was not lost either! No matter the hurdles before them, he was determined to press forward, to fight for her and not give up hope until she made it clear he had nothing to hold onto. 

“A moment – is that a Lannister sword, my Lady?” Lyle, the newest and most unexpected such _hurdle_, asked with a frown, elongating his neck in order to observe the hilt better. Instinctively, Brienne covered the ruby adorned lion-head with her palm. Her sapphire eyes drifted to Jaime, worry and uncertainty growing transparent on her expressive face. Uttering no word, yet using the full intensity of her compelling gaze, she pleaded for _his_ help with the delicate reply.

“That is a rather correct observation, Crakehall.” Jaime obliged all too eager to jump head front to _his __lady_’s aid. Brienne was right in being guarded when it came to sharing tales of their time together. Most of them were indeed too intimate for foreign ears. They were secrets imprinted on their very souls. They were like little links in a chain maille put together ring by ring until they formed a bond that transcended mere notions of loyalty and rivalry. Much of what they had been through was theirs – and theirs alone – to keep behind sealed lips. Yet some truths, or half-truths, were worth confessing. “That is a sword my father gave _me_ and I gifted it in turn to Lady Brienne. I wanted to express my gratitude for her efforts at helping me reach King’s Landing alive and, nearly, in one piece following my imprisonment.”

“Hm...” Lyle hummed, head turned inquisitorially towards Jaime. “Is that so? A family heirloom? I have known you for what– 40 years, now? And I must admit I have never realised you were _so_ generous in your gifting.”

Brienne bit the corner of her lower lip quite discreetly, but Jaime noticed all the same. Something in Lyle's words was not to her liking, for her muscles stiffened and her eyes sharpened. Seeing her, Jaime became guarded too. He had pushed too far. Mentioning his father had been a mistake. It only made Lyle aware there was a certain deepness to his relationship with Brienne – and, at a level, that was precisely why he had invoked his sire. But Brienne was not comfortable with that! In fact, she seemed to hate the subtle implication of past intimacy so much that she straightened her back and got ready to strike if further _attacked_. It hurt him deeply, yet he found it within to swallow his pride and force a smile. Jerking his shoulders upwards, Jaime hurried to dismiss the proposition as if doing so did not cut right through his bleeding core.

“A Lannister always pays his debts!” He replied proudly, ignoring the beats his heart skipped while uttering such falsehood regarding the motives behind the gifting of Oathkeeper. “Are you, _Ser,_ implying _my_ life is worth less than a sword?” He pressed further arrogantly.

Lyle threw his head back laughing, while the other two men did the same. Jaime took the moment of respite as an opportunity to seek Brienne’s gaze and reassess her disposition. Words had not been his allies as of late and he dreaded she had yet again taken offence at what he chose to say. To his great relief, it did not seem to be the case. Quite the contrary, Brienne bowed her head at him in gratitude, while a discreet smile played at the corners of her lips. The courtesy soothed the aching of his heart a little. At last, he got it right. She was satisfied with the skilful way in which he had crushed the foul assumptions of _vulgarity_ regarding their relationship, all while shielding the truth behind Oathkeeper's story. He did well by her and that was good. Less good was how she was getting _his _hopes down and Lyle’s up.

_Gods!_ He wanted to growl as his spirit plunged once more. He was succumbing to his chaotic nature and that was dangerous. He could not afford to lose control by overthinking and overanalysing her every look, her every frown, her every gesture or word! Hadn’t he settled for _‘I’m strong enough’_? Hadn’t he decided not to worry about defeating Lyle and to focus solely on winning Brienne? Why could he not keep his resolve!? If he could not exude confidence before his own men, how would he do it before the Starks? It was known to everyone that he took his worst decisions in his moments of desperation. He could not allow it to happen for then he would truly lose _her!_

It was enough with the informalities! They had to move onto the military matters, a discussion he could control without his mind and heart playing tricks on him – hopefully. Jaime cleared his throat loudly and narrowed his eyes, glaring at Lyle. The laughter stopped immediately. His second in command pressed his lips together, composing himself while fighting back a smile playing on his lips.

“My apologies, Commander.” He bowed his head respectfully, although a hint of friendly amusement remained in his tone. “Far from me the thought of insulting the golden lion of Casterly Rock in such a manner. I am sure no price can be put on your life, my Lord… I merely meant to imply that it is ironic to see such a distinctive Lannister blade defending the Starks.”

“Truthfully, Ser Lyle, you will find your assumption to be highly incorrect.” Brienne intervened before Jaime could reply. Her calm and assertiveness shifted the tonality of the conversation in a manner his earlier attempt had only half succeeded. All four men turned their undivided attention on her. She lifted her chin and looked at each and every one of them in turn before straightening her back to take advantage of her full height. “The sword I carry might be a gift from Ser Jaime, but there is nothing ironic about the manner in which I choose to wield it, or rather for whom I choose to do so. Oathkeeper – as I call it in memory of Lady Catelyn – was forged from the melted steel of Ice, the ancestral Valyrian blade of House Stark. The only reason why it now passes as a Lannister sword is because Lord Tywin had acquired Ice as a spoil of war, following the massacre of King Robb, alongside his mother and his queen.” Brienne’s eyes glowed alight with passion for the enemy and resentment for them. Lyle and Jon Bettley exchanged tense looks, while Bronn placed his goblet on the table, shifting rather uncomfortably on his seat. Jaime merely clenched his jaw, unwilling to reply to the accusative words hanging heavy in the air. Perhaps he liked the informalities better, after all.

Brienne let some moments pass by, before resting her gaze on him quite intensely. The feeling of being watched forced him to look her way and their eyes met for a flickering heartbeat. The reproach in her eyes was too much to take, so Jaime turned his head towards Lyle. Lyle looked at him and then his eyes drifted to Bronn, who simply shook his head with a grimace. The second in command looked back at Jaime, who opened his mouth to say something – before closing it again and turning towards Jon Bettley. The older man pressed his thin lips together, lifting his eyebrows. Jaime did the same. Jon nodded and purposefully looked at Brienne. It had to be him. From all of them present, he had been the only one to know of Tywin’s plans before they came to pass.

“I have heard of Ice…” Bettley said calmly. “It was spell forged in Valyria, more than a century before the Doom. Legend holds that House Stark considered their blade powerful enough to defend the North in winter. But you are wrong, my Lady.” The older man said with a stern smile. “The unpleasant events at the Twins were entirely Lord Frey’s doing. Granted, it is not uncommon for the glory or the blame of war to fall upon the shoulders of the greatest Lord in an alliance – which, undoubtedly, Lord Tywin was.” Brienne gritted her teeth, but Bettley pretended to not notice. “Untrue is also your belief that Lord Tywin took the blade from the cold hands of the young wolf. Ice has not been used against the usurper King. It has been in King’s Landing all along, which means that it has, rather unfortunately, been used in the beheading of Ned Stark.”

“Well, in that case, I am glad things turned out well for the _legitimate_ King who ordered Ice to be used against its wielder.” She replied with such bitterness he had not seen after Harrenhal.

“Careful….” Jaime hissed at her in spite of himself. She gasped shortly, squeezing her eyes shut and murmuring a low _‘I’m sorry’_ beneath her breath. Her demeanour melted like ice –and Ice – when she looked at him with sorrowful eyes. Regret at having disrespected the death of his child was apparent on her softened features. Jaime sighed, unsure of why her hatred had bothered him at all. It was not as if he hadn’t _disrespected _Joffrey’s death by forcing himself on his mother right beside his barely cooled corpse. It was not as if he had actually cared for Joffrey’s death. Brienne had all the right to feel as she felt. She had all the right to attack them. She held the moral high ground, while the rest of them were all in the wrong. The Lannisters had butchered the Starks and the lot of them lacked even the courage to admit to their deeds.

Jaime sighed, lips curving in a sad little smile. “My Lady, we cannot turn back time to change what happened, or rather how it happened. Mistakes were made by us, as well as by them – it is the nature of war.”

“I know, Ser Jaime. Yet we can move forward. It is not too late to atone for our sins and our failings…” Brienne bit her lips, eyes sliding down to her sword. “My sword, much like the one I see you are now carrying are Stark and Lannister alike. The hilts are made of gold, adorned with lion heads and rubies… but, at their core, the blades are still Ice and they are here – both of them – to defend the North in winter! As they should, as I hope they would…”

“Oh, Lady Brienne!” Jaime exclaimed in disbelief, his heart beating twice as hard in love for the impossible woman in front of him. “I respect your unprofaned idealism and I envy it from the depths of my tainted soul, but you cannot seriously expect _me_ to swing _my_ sword _for_ the Starks, my Lady!”

“No, I do not!” Brienne said resolutely, turning her upper body so that she could face him directly. To his surprise, she leaned in to shorten the distance between them. Involuntarily, he replied in kind, placing his elbows on his knees and staring deeply into her eyes. When she spoke, her voice was soft and melodious, yet filled with burning ardour. “Trust me, Jaime, since we have first met, my idealism has been greatly profaned by war and death and experiences of all sorts. There is little of it left, if any at all! I know loyalty and honour – and I know you! I know where your creed lies and where it always will. And if you know me at all, then you know I would never ask of you to betray your House and family. What I would however do is to request of you and your troops to swing your blades _alongside_ the Starks.” Swallowing deeply, Brienne retreated slowly deepening the distance between them once again. She straightened her spine and leaned calmly on the armchair’s backrest. 

Jaime did not move – _could not_ move, caught in the charms of her impassioned speech. She looked at him with such fierceness sparkling in the eyes he adored, that he felt common sense leaving his body while burning lust replaced it. _Fuck it! _He would do it for her – fight _alongside_ the Starks, no matter the reason! He would do it for her! He would do anything for her!

“There is a great war coming, Sers…” Brienne spoke again, this time with on a tone of calmness and resolve. “A war that goes beyond houses and loyalties and pointless games of thrones. The Seven Kingdoms need to stand united if they wish to have a chance against the threat of winter. This is what Lord Snow wishes to bring before the great houses. This is what he would like to discuss with you.”

“And what is this _threat of winter_ meant to mean, Lady Brienne?” Lyle asked unsurely.

“That is not mine to reveal, Ser Lyle.” She smiled at the dark-haired knight politely, before unexpectedly turning her gaze back on him. Unbidden, Jaime passed his tongue over his lips, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. _He would do it!_ “I am but a mere messenger, whereas you, Ser Jaime, are the heir of the strongest house and the commander of the largest force in the kingdoms.” Why was she still bothering to win him to her side? Could she not see it clearly in his eyes that he would do what she asked all the same? “_You_ have the power and right to decide on matters of war and pea…”

“Not the heir.” Jon Bettley intervened calmly taking the measure of her. “Ser Jaime is the _Lord_ of House Lannister. Any actions he takes can dangerously alter the Westerlands’ relationship with the Crown.” The older man said gravely enough to propel his commander to straighten up, resuming a more dignified position at last. “…as I am sure he knows and takes seriously into consideration.” Jaime gulped at the thinly veiled accusations of his advisor. “The situation in the south is highly delicate at the moment, my Lady, and I am rather afraid the latest political developments have failed to reach the North in the recent moons, maybe even a year. In consequence, you may not be aware that there is a new pillar of power exercising great influence over the Crown – the Faith of the Seven and its charismatic high septon of sorts. A holy alliance was proclaimed and the bond between King and Gods is expected to grow stronger with unforeseen consequences. Not only are the Starks rebels to the Crown, my Lady, but they and their nameless gods are also rebels to the Faith, the so proclaimed true religion of the continent. The power of the great houses is not what _Lord Snow_ – who has spent a great time secluded at the Wall – assumes it to still be.” Bettley looked at Jaime, scrutinising his reaction. The lion turned his head away, avoiding the man’s gaze. As if knowing that he has yet to restore the common sense in his commander, Bettley resumed his intervention with an argument targeting Jaime’s sensibilities more directly. “What threat could possibly be so great that a Lannister-Stark alliance can be explained to the King’s High Sparrow – a man so powerful he has the Queen Mother herself on trial under unspeakable accusations?” The blow landed as expected.

_Cersei… _Jaime jolted to his feet. _Cersei… _Instinctively, he reached for the pitcher in front of him, hand trembling while filling his goblet. In one beat he let the pitcher down, nearly slamming it on the table and took the cup in its stead. He poured the wine down his throat in one gulp, feeling all eyes converging on him. _Cersei…_ He had failed to think of Cersei and her trial in days! His mind clouded, as panic rose in his chest at the thought of her being in danger. _Cersei…_ He had not heard from her in moons! Why was that? Had she been harmed? Would Tommen allow the damned sparrow to harm his mother? _Of course, he would._ Jaime’s mind revolted in despair. The weakling boy was nothing but a spineless bastard at the mercy of the strongest player. At least that damned Joffrey knew his worth! 

“The Queen Mother will be fine!” Jaime blurted out, trying to reassure himself more than the others. “She will be fine!” He repeated on a high pitch tone, starting to pace up and down in front of the hearth, empty goblet of wine clutched in his hand. “She has the Mountain as her champion for the combat trial. No one can defeat the Mountain! No one is strong enough! And he is loyal and devoted to Cersei! Clegane will always protect her. He will never allow anyone to cause her any harm! Any at all!” Jaime nodded strongly. “Cersei is fine! I know she is fine! She has to be fine…”

Brienne sucked in her lips and bit them hard, while lowering her head and burying her chin deep in her chest. Catching her reaction with the corner of his eye, Jaime stopped his pacing just as abruptly as he had started it. Within heartbeats, his core shrunk and his blood turned cold. To his bewilderment, Brienne looked as if the mentioning of his sister caused her terrible ache. He hardly understood why she would feel that way – she had no reason to, not unless she felt for him more than she cared to show! The shadow of hope warmed his body again, calming his nerves and soothing his worries. 

Jaime cleared his throat, placing the goblet on the table and standing tall in front of the fire, facing his men and _his lady_ from across the small table. “Ser Jon is right – war has changed the political and military dynamic in the Crownlands and not for the better. Yet Lady Brienne is also right – we should move forward. My place is no longer idle at the side of _any _monarch. My place is in charge of the realms’ armies. And it was precisely the King who sent me to restore the order in the Riverlands…” Jaime tilted his head and added with no flinch of reservation. “…and then in the North. I plan to do just that! Since House Bolton failed the Crown’s expectations – perhaps an alliance with the Starks is precisely what we all need at the moment.”

Lyle lowered himself from the armchair’s rail on Jaime’s former seat. He shook his head in concern and exhaled deeply. “Commander, while I do not question for a moment your orders – as proven by last night’s battle and each and every one to come – you are yet to explain to us the motives behind the scale and intensity of the attack you called for. What exactly did Lord Ramsay do for you to obliterate House Bolton and execute his two other allied lords? You say it _failed the Crown’s expectations_ and that pushes towards an alliance with the Starks. How? I reckon the betrayal must run deep, but what guarantees do you have the high treason an allied house was capable of will not be replicated by an enemy house?”

Jaime looked at his second in command and their eyes met. Lyle had all reasons to be concerned and inquisitive. Jaime was painfully aware that his recent decisions of command had been obscure and his recent military actions extreme, yet he had no reasonable explanation for any of that. There was no manner in which he could tell his counsellors that they had galloped north because of a nightmare. There was no manner in which he could admit that he butchered the allies who had loudly reaffirmed their loyalty to the Crown, solely because they had turned that nightmare into reality. Something, however, had to be said, so Jaime breathed deeply in and opened his mouth to mumble another lie. He did not get to do it, for Bronn beat him to it: 

“I’ll tell you wha’ happened.” The sellsword said on a surprisingly serious tone. “We were having a bite and in the middle of the meal the mindless fucker threatened the very future of Jaime’s family right to his face – multiple times.” Jaime swallowed hard as Bronn’s words punched him right in the gut. _The very future of his family..._ “Even I would have had more tact than that. It’s a miracle how this dear old act-first-think-if-you-somehow-survive commander of yours mustered enough wits to pretend he had not understood Bolton’s insinuations.”

Brienne pressed her lips together, a deep frown of confusion clouding her expression. Jon Bettley raised his thick eyebrows, while Lyle exclaimed a loud _‘Oh!’_ and looked at Jaime with genuine concern on his face. “The vermin – that is unthinkable! I did not know they wielded enough power to hit so close to the throne.”

“Yeah, well…” Jaime jerked his shoulders upwards, avoiding looking at anyone in general and at _the very future of his family_ in particular. “I have taken care of it, haven’t I? It’s done! The point is that – while I thoroughly understand we have reasons to mistrust the Starks and mistrust them deeply – I am the first to vouch that they would never stoop to the level of the Boltons, nor would they employ even remotely similar tactics.”

“It seems that you have made your mind to accept the parley, Lord Commander.” Bettley affirmed, calmly lifting the wine to his lips.

“I have, Lord Bettley – but only as long as Jon Snow agrees to one stipulation.” Jaime channelled all the strength he could muster into looking at _the very future of his family_ without breaking his resolve. “My Lady…” He said with apparent calmness, while his heart throbbed in his chest. “The walls of Winterfell now display Lannister banners. The castle is, undoubtedly, ours. We _can_ and, if need be, we _will _resist a siege long enough for the rest of my forces to relieve us.” Brienne swallowed looking at him and he smiled gallantly to stop himself from quivering in front of her. The dice had been rolled! His mind had been made. He would do it for her. He would seal the Lannister-Stark alliance. Yet, he still had an opportunity to win a victory for himself as well. “You are a perceptive woman of arms. Lady Brienne. Thus, I do know you are fully aware that Snow’s troops are no match for mine. After all, you were sent to Riverrun to increase your numbers for a battle I seem to have ended with only 500 men.”

“Lord Snow imperiously needs Winterfell for the great war to come.” Brienne decreed trying to sound assertive in spite of the deep redness that claimed her freckled cheeks.

Jaime struggled to suppress a grin seeing her so beautifully flustered and endearingly unaware she had already won her argument. “Precisely, my Lady…” He said bowing his head deeply. “If the _great war to come _is Jon Snow’s only interest, if he needs this fortress _imperiously_, and if a unified stance of the realm is all he wishes for – then he surely is not opposed to ending the northern rebellion and bringing the North back under the Iron Throne.” Brienne’s wonderful eyes enlarged to swallow him whole, sending a shiver up his spine. _Gods! He wanted to devour her… and then surrender._ “My condition for the parley, Lady Brienne.” He said barely above a whisper, concerned that anything louder than that would leave his throat as a lustful groan.

“House Stark bends the knee and House Lannister provides the troops?” She struggled not to hiss through clenched teeth.

Jaime nodded slowly and purposefully, enjoying their exchange more than he should have. “Indeed, Lady Brienne. I agree to meet Jon Snow and a party of his no larger than ten riders. I will hear him out and we will discuss a potential military alliance to face whatever foes together. However, he should not come to meet us, unless he understands than any cooperation is exclusively dependant on him swearing his allegiance to King Tommen, the one rightful monarch.”

Her eyes darkened and narrowed. He smirked, eagerly awaiting her comeback. “Understood, Ser Jaime. Your message will be truthfully passed on. I leave Winterfell at dawn.”

And, with that blow, Brienne re-established that the only victory was in fact _hers_. The life seemed to pour out of his body and all his muscles stiffened. Jaime held her gaze petrified, unable to reply, as the gravity of the moment dawned on him. No matter what he did, no matter what he said – he could not prevent her from returning to the Starks. No matter how much he wished to, he could not make her stay. He had nothing – absolutely nothing – up his sleeve to keep her near him, where he knew she would be safe! Just as desperation filled him, Brienne broke the eye contact and bowed her head at him, standing up in order to leave.

“No!” Jaime commanded with such assertiveness that even Jon Bettley was startled. Brienne froze on the spot, looking almost scared. He cleared his throat, cursing himself and his impulsiveness. “What I meant is that you cannot leave before the scouts return with information about the forces Bolton, Karstark and Umber had assembled against the Starks. They are to be back soon and thereafter…” Jaime took in a deep breath, finding it difficult to utter his permission for her departure. With the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Bronn lifting the wine cup to his lips and an idea took root in his mind. “…and thereafter, Ser Bronn will accompany you, to wherever you need to reach.”

Brienne and Bronn erupted in unison. Her outraged _“Excuse me!”_ morphing with his hoarse _“Fuck no!”_

The idea was brilliant! Bronn was not only a great sword fighter! He also knew everything there was to know about _the very future of Jaime’s family_ and hence understood the importance of the task at hand – for which he would, of course, be remunerated accordingly. With his mind and heart put mildly at ease, Jaime gestured with his golden hand, adopting an unbending stance.

“Well, I am sorry for the inconvenience, Lady Brienne, but travelling alone would be a sign of carelessness on our part and yours alike. After all, I do need to send a messenger of my own in order to collect a response.”

“It’s a pile of sheep crap!” Bronn snarled. “Listen to me, Lannister! I am not a shining knight in your fancy army! I am here only to protect your old ass, not to run errands.” The cutthroat turned to look at Brienne. “Nothing personal, m’lady.”

She grimaced at him in response, sounding equally bitter. “Rest assured I would rather not travel in your company either.”

“See! The two of us –” Bronn grinned gesturing between him and Brienne. “– we understand each other. Why should I be the one going?” The sellsword pushed his luck further, in spite of knowing all too well why he had been singled out. “You’ve brought 500 knights with you, Lannister – let the Lady have her pick! If she’s forced to get a tagalong, she might as well go with someone she likes.”

“Listen to me, you worthless lowlife!” Jaime growled in all his might as the world before his eyes turned the same bright red as his boiling blood. “You thrive on Lannister money, so you will do what I tell you to do without questioning _my orders_!”

“Really?” Bronn narrowed his eyes, in a defiant act of provocation. “You know what I think? I think Crakehall should go with Lady Brienne.”

“Hey-hey-hey!” Lyle jolted to his feet slamming a hand on Jaime’s chest, just on time to stop him from reacting poorly. Jaime panted trying hard to calm his fury and regain control. Had it not been for his second in command’s quick reflexes, he would have jumped over the table to introduce the damned vermin to his golden hand. “Know your place, Blackwater! Know when to stop!”

“Ser Jaime, far from me the desire to sow discord in your camp. I am perfectly capable of reaching mine without a chaperon.” Brienne intervened clenching her teeth.

“Lady Brienne, do not worry at all. This has nothing to do with you.” Lyle said bitterly looking poignantly at Bronn. “It has everything to do with the fact that we have _somehow_ –” The knight accentuated, head turning accusatively to stare at Jaime, before returning with a glare to Bronn. “– acquired a mercenary in our midst. A man who has no code of honour and does not understand a simple chain of command!” Bronn passed his tongue over his teeth but said nothing in his defence. “On occasions, we might act like _brothers-in-arms_ and whatnot, but Ser Jaime is our Lord Commander. So unless you want to meet my sword, _Ser_, you are going to respect everyone’s rank at least when I am present!”

“I can defend myself, Crakehall.” Jaime clenched his teeth.

The tall knight frowned deeply and looked at Jaime with pursed lips. “Really?” Lyle demanded on a sarcastic tone. “Against Bronn? With… your left hand?”

For a moment Jaime froze. Time seemed to slow down and he looked around at all those familiar faces. Each, in their own way, was a friend of sorts. Each, in their own way, had his best interest at heart and would never betray him. Jaime bit his lower lip, then threw his hands, flesh and gold, up in exasperation, before bursting into laughter shaking his head. “Well, no… probably not against Bronn. Or any of you.” He admitted among cackles and the other men joined in, the tension in the room dissipating at once. Brienne did not go as far as the others, yet she let her head down, trying to mask her obvious amusement. Jaime looked at her, heart full of joy at catching a smile on her lips.

At the end of it, all that matter was for her to be safe and protected. Lyle could do that. There was a reason why Jaime had trusted the man with the command of his armies. The Strongboar was… _strong enough_.

“Lyle, Bronn has no tact – no matter what he thinks – but he is right. It should be you accompanying Lady Brienne back to her camp.” Jaime said clearing his throat. “I will try to somehow survive without your _protection_ and counsel for a sennight. Lady Brienne, would this arrangement be right by you?”

Brienne bowed her head. “Quite so, Ser Jaime. I apologise for not taking kindly to your offer, earlier on. You are, of course, right. Travellers on side roads and narrow paths often need additional help in their quests. One should not be travelling alone particularly in winter… and seeing as my squire is currently incapacitated, I believe I would appreciate the company of Ser Lyle.” Brienne replied politely, a courteous smile curving the corners of her lips.

Jaime looked at Brienne fighting the dread in his soul. It should have been him going with her on a _quest_ and none other. Yet he knew painfully well he was not in the position of doing so. His rank did not permit such luxury. He was much like a caged lion, restricted in movement. Powerless to either keeping her near him or joining her on the road. _His sword_ was slipping through his clumsy left fingers once again and he could not prevent it. He could only wait for her return, gazing from the walls of the castle into the horizon, like a damsel for her knight.

“It is settled then.” Jaime said trying not to sound as gloomy as one passing a death sentence. “If the surroundings are cleared, the two of you will leave the dawn after the scouts return. Now should we go dine?”

“Actually, if it would be alright with you, Sers, I would prefer not joining you this evening. I wish to see my squire instead. His health has me worried.” Brienne excused herself.

“As you please, my Lady.” Jaime nodded. “I will have food sent to your chamber then.”

Brienne bowed her head in courtesy. “Thank you, Ser Jaime. I much appreciate your hospitality… quite the upgrade.”

“Don’t…” Jaime mouthed under his breath, faint as a whisper in the wind. Their eyes met and Brienne held her breath not daring to blink as the weight of so many unsaid truths hang over them. _The very future of his family_… Bronn’s words echoed in Jaime’s mind and he wondered if she suspected in the slightest what their true meaning was.

“Good night, Ser Jaime, Sers.” Brienne turned around to leave, but stopped in her tracks. “Ah… I am afraid I have no idea where Podrick is…”

Lyle chuckled softly bowing his head. “Allow me to take you to him, my Lady.”

“Thank you, Ser Lyle.” She bowed her head at the knight and he inclined his upper body courteously, indicating towards the door with his strong right arm stretched forward.

Jaime closed his eyes, a sudden wave of nausea overwhelming him. Within a heartbeat, his stomach turned to knots and his insides felt like clutched in the grip of the Mountain. The dreadful feeling of jealousy crawled its way back into his soul, clawing deeply in. How could it not? No matter how he tried to rationalise it, a simple fact stood: Brienne did not mind Lyle’s attention. In fact, she had smiled at the dark-haired knight more in one single evening than she had smiled at him in all the years they knew each other. It killed him.

“I have to pen down some ravens. I’ll actually dine in my chamber too.” Jaime said as soon as the door closed behind Brienne and Lyle. He hurried to make his exit without further ado.

“I believe your father would have approved of her.” Jon Bettley’s calm remark stopped Jaime in his tracks.

Swallowing hard, yet not turning around, the cornered lion responded with all the honesty he could muster in a lie. “I am afraid I do not understand what you are insinuating, Ser Jon.”

“Oh, I am sure you do not, _Ser _Jaime.” The older man hummed. “Yet, for when you will eventually understand what I am _insinuating_, all I am saying is that I believe your father would have approved of Lady Brienne for you.”

“Good night.” Jaime replied reaching for the door handle.

“Not so fast – a word first!” The older man commanded, using his seniority to impose himself. Jon Bettley had been like a shadow for his liege lord for years with no end. He had a standing and authority among Jaime’s men that no other held. Whenever the bald lord chose to do so, he had all the power to make Jaime feel like Tywin Lannister was, in fact, imposing his will from beyond the grave. Right then – Bettley chose to do so.

Jaime sighed and with a slow calculated motion, he turned around, dragging his steps back to the armchair he had occupied earlier that night. “Yes, Lord Bettley.” He said lowly, trying to maintain a semblance of authority. Bronn scoffed.

“Get out.” Bettley commanded with such coldness in his voice that shivers passed all through Jaime’s body. Bronn paused, taken aback. He looked at Jaime searching his reaction only to find no support in him. The cutthroat had done and said too much for one evening. He was on his own. Understanding that much, Bronn turned to the older man and smiled cockily.

“Do not even dare, Blackwater.” Bettley said calmly. “You are not _a shining knight_ in our _fancy army_ – your assessment, not mine. I want a private word with my Commander. Get out.” Rolling his eyes, Bronn protested no longer and made his way out of the room.

Jaime took in a deep breath and looked straight at the man on the opposite armchair. Left alone with Jon Bettley, Jaime no longer felt in command. Just like that, he was reduced to a green knight in his father’s ranks, with his father’s trusted advisor ready to scold him in his sire’s name. And scold he did.

“You have outdone yourself in your impulsiveness.” Jaime pursed his lips but did not reply. “Yet, I see no point in condemning actions that have already come to pass. We are stuck in Winterfell, in winter, and nothing from what I would have to say about your poor judgement will change this fact. The past is written in stone, but do tell me the truth about the future.”

“I have not lied about the future, Bettley.” Jaime proclaimed hoping he sounded resolute enough. “The parley will happen and so will an alliance between our houses – if Stark’s bastard agrees to bringing the North back under the Crown.”

“If!” Bettley emphasised sharply. “What will happen _if _he does _not?”_ Jaime’s stomach revolted at the unveiled accusation. He should have known that Jon Bettley, with his calmness and bewildering power of observation, was bound to smell the truth earlier rather than later. “Tell me – will you fight against her?”

“If I have to…” Jaime whispered, his throat drying as the words were spoken.

“Will you?” The older man repeated, the calm in his voice turning Jaime’s blood cold. “Will you order your men against her? Will you send your armoured knights across the battlefield, swords pointed her way? You are a Commander. You will do none of the fighting. You will be high on your horse, on the side-lines, issuing orders and overseeing the bloodshed. Your Lady, on the other hand, will be right in the middle of it. She is but a soldier! Chances are that one of your men will strike her. We are better equipped and better trained than the enemy – your assessment, not mine. She knows it too. But she is loyal and stubborn. She will fight until her blood reddens the snow beneath her lifeless body. All due to an order _you_ gave.”

Bettley’s words came to live in Jaime’s mind. A battlefield opened in front of him and he saw Brienne surrounded by Lannister knights. She was on her knees, trying to fight them still. Yet she stood no chance. One by one they ran their swords through her and Jaime shook his head hard to push the sickening scene away. His muscles convulsed in helplessness and he had to rest his left elbow on his knee to control the shaking. Defeated by the vision in his mind, Jaime let his head fall on his palm.

Calmly, almost soothing, Jon whispered to him: “Let me ask you again, Jaime, and please do answer truthfully this time. Will you fight against the woman you massacred a castle for?”

“No.” Jaime mouthed faintly. “No, I could never…” With great difficulty, he lifted his head and looked at Bettley. “But it does not mean that I will shame my troops.”

“I implied no such thing. You are a great Commander, Jaime. You have vision, skill, stateliness and you are, more often than not, very responsible and considerate of your men. I do not doubt you. I do not question your abilities. But I also know you other than that…” The older man exhaled deeply. “I know you from when you were a boy barely able to lift that wooden sword for the first time. I know what your father thought of you. I know his hopes and fears for you. At the end of it, it is all reduced to the fact that your emotions tend to get the best of you. You can be a good man, Jaime. You have a deep sense of justice and sacrifice for the greater good. You have what it takes to be a brilliant Commander for your troops and a great Lord for your people! But you are also selfish, vengeful and cruel to the point of peril and destruction when your mind is clouded by the whim of putting those you love above rationality. And you are in that position now, for you cannot see past your feelings for Lady Brienne.” Jaime swallowed hard, not even daring to contradict the man. “I know too well what you were thinking earlier this night. I have no doubt about what will happen at that parley.”

“And what will happen at that parley?”

“You will agree to an alliance with the Starks, regardless of what Snow asks for.” Bettley smiled tilting his head. “Lady Brienne secured the Stark victory by simply being the one who delivered the message. No matter what comes to be said atop of a hill somewhere, no matter whether Snow bends the knee or gives you a vague reply on the matter. You will open the gates of Winterfell and surrender the castle all the same. You will do this because it is the middle way – the bitter compromise in which you are not forced to embarrass your troops through a retreat, or the refusal of battle, while also not having to fight the… how did Bronn call her now? Oh yeah, _‘the very future of your family’_.”

Jaime lifted his eyebrows and nodded vigorously, a hint of arrogance making its presence felt in his attitude. “That is exactly what I will do, Lord Bettley, yes!” The lion admitted with no reservation. “You are an intuitive man, as well as a calculated one, loyal to a fault and above all discreet. You know the truth, the whole of it – I know you do!” Jaime looked the older man right in the eyes and straightened his back. “You are not wrong – I am everything you say and worse, so much worse! The things I do for love know no limit. They never have and most likely they never will. This very war that rages on for more years than I care to remember, this war that claimed so many lives – including those of two of my _children_ and that of my father – well, I started it with my bare hands, for a woman. Everything I did, I did for my house and my family… and I will never stop doing so!”

“I know, my Lord – just as well as I know you no longer see _your family_ as being the child who humiliated you in front of the court and the woman who let it happen, lifting no finger at your shameful banishment.” Bettley replied with the same notorious calm that Jaime envied and despised at the same time. “_Your family_ is the woman Ramsay Bolton threatened and most probably hurt in ways I do not wish to imagine…”

“I will not talk about it…” Jaime whispered.

“I do not want you to…” The other man replied in kind.

“You said I can be a good man, Brienne believes it too. Who knows… maybe? I would have killed every man, woman, and child at Riverrun just to go back to Cersei as soon as possible. Then Brienne rode in, unexpectedly, and asked me to take the castle without bloodshed. So I did – for her. It was not hard and it was beneficial for my forces too. So do tell me, my Lord, now that she wants me to end the war I caused, why should I believe it to be a bad idea?”

“Because it is treason, Jaime, that’s why.” Bettley sighed.

“No, it is not treason! Not when Snow bends the knee. Not when the North comes back under the Iron Throne!”

“If…” The other man corrected him.

“No, Bettley – when! _When_ Jon Snow bends the knee.” Jaime replied more assertively. “I have a great weakness – tall and blonde, wielding a sword I gave her to remember me by. However, the advantage is that the Starks do not know just how much power they hold against me by having Brienne in their ranks. Alas, she does not even know it herself… and it is better this way, for now. I will use their ignorance in our advantage. I am the Lord of House Lannister! I will quiver in front of no Stark bastard, nor will I show my weakness. I will make him and my fugitive good-sister see what happened to House Bolton when they crossed me! I will make them understand that they are next in line unless they agree to my terms.”

Bettley nodded, a proud smile playing on his lips. “_That_, my Lord, I can easily get behind of. After all, I do have experience with how this strategy of faux power works into practice.” Jaime frowned confused. “Well, hasn’t your father maintained for years that he was the richest man in Westeros when the truth is that your family’s golden mines have long run dry?” He chuckled and so did Jaime. “You are more like him than you care to admit.”

“I doubt it…” Jaime sighed. “My father would have never caused such a political mess for a woman.”

“Are you talking about the man who threw his Hand of the King pin at Aerys II swearing to abandon the most influential position in the country solely because of the jealousy and outrage he felt when the monarch asked of the state of your mother’s breasts following childbirth?” Bettley tilted his head. “Because you are right, that truly did not cause _such a political mess_. It only turned Aerys against your father, ultimately destroying the Lannister-Targaryen collaboration, ruining Cersei’s marital prospects and getting you tricked into thinking the Kingsguard was a glorious career prospect for the heir of a Great House.”

Jaime threw his head back laughing out loud until all doubt and tension left his body. Drawing in a deep breath he looked at the older man. “Thank you, my Lord. Your loyalty and support are of inestimable value to me.”

The older man bowed his head in response. “You will always have them, Jaime. You are the only future of House Lannister I acknowledge – for that was your father’s creed. Not your sister, not your brother – you. Choose your mistakes wisely, my Lord.”

Jaime stood and turned to leave, but stopped short in his tracks. “If the truth has not transpired to Lyle, do not tell him yet.”

“He has surely not noticed anything. Lyle is a man of action, not a reflective one. He lacks the depth and patience to analyse your every motion and question the motives behind your every look – that is my pastime. The things that catch Lyle’s attention are the big reactions. Let’s say like when you jolted as burnt by wildfire when I mentioned your sister – which, coincidently, is something Lady Brienne has also noticed quite well. And she did not like it in the least.” Jaime sighed. “Tonight, your interest in the lady came across most obviously when Bronn provoked you. But Lyle dismissed that as an offence to your military rank. Most assuredly, the truth is far from transpiring to him. However, I cannot understand why you would not address the issue with your second in command? Crakehall cares for you dearly and he respects you even more. He would never behave so amiably with Lady Brienne if he knew the truth of your intentions towards her.”

“I know, precisely why I do not what to tell him.” Jaime took in a deep breath. “On one hand, this might help us a lot in concealing the truth from the Starks, but more importantly – Lady Brienne is not one to appreciate or even tolerate unwanted attention. Lyle did not seem to aggravate her in the least, quite the contrary, she rather enjoyed his manner – which may _kill me_, but it does not give me the right to exercise my rank to take that away from her.” In a blink his Lannister arrogance resurfaced and Jaime smiled rather viciously. “Lyle can try his best and he still would not give me a run for my money. All he has is a polite smile and a _mellow_ reputation – while I will end a war for her.”

And with that Jaime returned to his room, quite confident in himself and what he had to do in the days to come. When he rested his head on the pillow, sleep took him fast.

_White all around him and it was snowing still. No motion or sound disturbed the tomb-like silence of Winterfell. He was alone. Dreadfully so. Jaime took a step and the snow creaked beneath his boot. He stopped as if startled by the noise he made. And kept still for a long while. So long loneliness overwhelmed him._

_When he took another step and the snow creaked again. This time he knew to expect it. He stopped for a shorter while, then took another step. The wailing of the snow failed to become more bearable, no matter how many footprints he left behind._

_Aimlessly, Jaime walked the paths of Winterfell in search of any other living soul. To no avail. There was no one there. No one left. He was alone and, in spite of himself, his steps took him to the Broken Tower._

_Jaime stopped beneath it and looked up to the window… the fateful window. Time slowed and snow fell from the top of the Tower and all the way down – just as Bran had so long ago. No motion or sound disturbed the death-like silence of that damned place. Dread and guilt made him dizzy._

_And then she screamed! She screamed from all around him, prompting him to swirl and turn in desperation without knowing where to look for her! Without knowing where she was! Whom she was with! And how badly did they hurt her this time…_

_He wanted to call out her name, but the precious word would not leave his lips. He could, however, shout at the top of his lungs – “Come out! Come out!” And so it did! Straight out the window. Black wings and three eyes, cawing deafeningly. A crow or raven as dark as the clothes he wore._

_Jaime looked down at his body. He was draped in black from head to tows. Boots. Breeches. Tunic. A raggedy woollen cloak, leather-strapped across his chest and fur-coated over the shoulders. And a glove covering his golden hand. Black. All in black. A striking contrast to the snow around. _

_The bird cawed again, circling in the air above his head. Jaime looked up at it, forgetting about the clothes he wore. The bird flew away and landed on the branch of a nearby tree. Jaime blinked and so did the creature’s three eyes. Then it cawed again and flew further away._

_Drawn by it like a moth to a flame, he followed the creature. Step by step into the Godswood, where his doom awaited. He knew it with the certainty of a dream. Something dark and terrible lurked in there, hidden behind the shadows of those gods’ damned trees. Jaime tried to halt, but the bird’s cawing demanded him to charge forward. He obliged. For reasons unknown to him, he felt like he owed it to._

_The deeper he went into the Godswood, the louder the branches cracked and the leaves whooshed. Voice seemed to echo in the dimming light. A hundred voices. A thousand voices – all cold like winter and frozen in time._

_The Weirwood tree rose tall before him. Jaime dragged his feet towards the face carved into the white trunk. Tears as red as blood trailed down towards the snow. Mere inches apart, Jaime cowered until his face was at the level of the carving. The voices were loud all around, but Jaime could no longer feel them. Distinguish them. Lifting his left hand, he touched the God, trying to wipe away its tears._

_“Have you brought Ice?” Echoed loudly. Fingers covered in blood, Jaime spun around, eyeing the shadows playing among the countless other trees._

_“Come out! Come out!” Jaime shouted again. “Is that you Stark?” He called. “Come – come ahead! I never feared you living – I do not fear you dead!”_

_“This winter you should…” The deep voice whispered right behind him. Terrified, Jaime whirled towards the sound. Ned Stark, pale as a spirit, stood before him._

_Jaime gulped, taking step with step away until his back hit the Weirwood tree._

_“Have you brought Ice?” Ned asked again. Jaime looked down at his body. He was still draped in black from head to tows, but now the gold and red of Widow Wail’s hilt added a splash of vulgar colour to him._

_“Where’s the other half?” The spirit demanded._

_Jaime shook his head. “I do not have it…”_

_A loud knock on the wood echoed all around. Jaime turned his head all around and raised his eyes to the sky to figure where the noise came from. It stopped just as unexpectedly as it had started. He looked at Ned whose eyes were grey and demanding._

_“You need to keep Ice together. Go…” Behind the spirit, the wind howled through the Godswood. And the knocking echoed again. “Lannister go… that’s Ice calling for you…” _

Jaime jerked awake, panting. The knocking persisted, yet it took him more than a moment to understand that it was, in fact, coming from his door. Realisation dawning, Jaime pushed the furs off his body and stood up promptly.

He could not know what time it was. Yet judging by the dimming fire in the hearth, it was probably the small hours before the dawn. No knocking in the dead of the night could mean any good. Unbarring the door, Jaime opened it expecting to see one of his men wearing an expression of pending doom as he got ready to deliver dreadful news.

“Wench!” Jaime exclaimed astound. “What are…”

“You said…” Brienne whispered faintly. Her whole body trembled from the cold, as she was dressed in nothing but the thin undergarments she had gone to bed with. She looked tired and tormented, trails of tears staining her cheeks while the azure of her irises was lost in the redness of her eyes. “You said… anything I need. No questions asked. No words spoken of it – at all. I cannot be alone. I’ll sleep here.”

She walked passed him and went straight towards the bed. Jaime pushed the door shut, the tremor of his left hand not lost on him. A moment of seeing her like that was all it took for his heart to shatter to pieces and his courage to dissolve in flames. “Would…” He started to say, but his voice came out weakly and died out after one word. Jaime coughed softly to stir his chords and swallowed the knot of pain that had formed in his throat. “Would you want me to do anything specific?”

Brienne crawled on the side of the bed he had slept in and pulled the furs over her frozen body, burying her head in his pillow. “Just keep an eye on the shadows…”

Jaime bit his lips hard to keep any demeaning sound from escaping them. He had to contain himself. He had to be strong enough and subtle all at once, in order to protect his warrior lady without her feeling he was doing so, without offending her pride.

With quiet steps, Jaime walked to the hearth and put more wood on the fire. He tended to it until the flames danced high enough to tend for themselves. He then went to the drawer in which the candles were kept and took out as many as he could hold in one hand. He lit them clumsily, one by one, and placed them around the room. Then took out more candles and lit those too. He did so until the drawer emptied. By the time he finished _taking care of the shadows_, the room looked almost as bright as in daylight.

Jaime climbed in bed beside her and lied on his back. Exhausted, Brienne had fallen asleep as soon as she rested her head on the pillow. He turned his head to look at her. She was with the back at him, sleeping on her left side. Jaime bit his lips pondering his options. Deep down he knew propriety asked of him to turn to his right, so they would sleep back to back. But he could not do it. Instead, Jaime rolled leftwards, unable to tear his eyes from her.

Brienne seemed calm and peaceful, the rhythm of her breathing even and soothing. His heart warmed at the sight and started beating faster. He had slept not far from her before and knew her warrior instincts kept her perpetually on guard. Not now. Now she looked serene, like a babe knowing someone by its cot watched to its safety. Biting his lips, Jaime fought the instinct of reaching for her. _I am here for you…_ He was there to make her feel thus safe. And he wanted to touch her, so she could feel his presence by her side. He wanted nothing more than to crawl closer to her sleeping form and wrap his arms around her, until she melted in his embrace. He wanted nothing more than to bring her head to rest on his chest, while he passed his fingers through her hair to chase away all of her demons…

_Hhmm…_ A low moan stirred in his throat and he had to clench his teeth to keep others from following. It pained him to the depths of his being to have her so near and not be able to do any of that. Blissfulness was within arm’s reach, yet further away than ever. And the longer he looked at her wistfully, the worse it hurt.

As the candles melted away, Jaime caught himself closing his arms around the furs covering his body. Taking in a deep breath, he inhaled her scent, for it called to him from all around the room. Pulling the furs closer to his chest, he hugged them for dear life, pretending they were her. Jaime was no fool to believe he stood a chance to return to the realm of dreams and mares that night. Thus, he lied there watching her sleep until the sun shed its first rays of light over the walls of Winterfell bringing the castle back to life for another day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope the ending of this chapter did not hurt you as much as it hurt Jaime.  
Looking forward to hearing your impressions about it! Xx


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